The Call of the Chickadee
by WhereTheMildThingsAre
Summary: After three doctors have been either brutally murdered or kidnapped, a fourth potential target seeks out Holmes and Watson for assistance, bringing more mystery and intrigue with him than our duo may have bargained for. Takes place some time after STUD.
1. Chapter I: The Butterfly Effect

**Well, hello there! It seems like only recently that I began delving into the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Ah, I suppose that three months would be defined as "recently." Now I know what you veterans must be thinking: Three months is not nearly enough time to master the material! And you'd be right; it's not. I profess right here and now that I'm not so nearly as learned on the subject as many of you. However, I'm doing my best. I've been reading, researching Victorian England, and trying my very best to get into the minds of these amazing characters.**

**Quite simply put my friends, all I ask is a smidgen of patience. True, I'm but a Sherlockian Fledgling, but I'm hoping with some time and practice I can spread my wings a bit. This idea has been stewing since I first picked up _A Study in Scarlet_ and I feel I can at least begin to pull it together.**

**So! Thank you very much in advance for those of you who choose to read on. I would be _very _appreciative of any constructive criticism--Lord knows I can use it.**

**--You Float My Boat**

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, Inspector Lestrade, or any other characters mentioned within. That honor belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If I own anyone at all, it will be the those you don't recognize.

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**Chapter I:** The Butterfly Effect

There are few individuals upon God's Green Earth that can give rise to such awe as one Sherlock Holmes. In the years I have spent by his side as an advocate to his adventures, I have come across few who could match him in his seemingly singular talents.

It is with great reluctance that I finally relinquish this series of tales to the hands of my readers. For many years I have kept my notes to my file and the tales to my breast for the safety of those mentioned within. At last I believe it is safe for them to be known and of great importance for them to be told; for I feel that should I keep them to myself any longer, the many truths held within will be lost and twisted at the mercy of Time.

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It was a rather unpleasant day, as I recall. Gently shifting the curtains allowed me to view the positively sullen gray sky through rain streaked window panes. I was rather glad to be in and out of the wet and cold and there was only one thing to cause me unrest. With no current case to pursue, my companion's mood was a black and foul as the weather. He had sat listlessly in his armchair for some time now, having given up scraping at his violin.

I had reason to believe that his mood would be considerably brightened. Reading the papers as of late, one could not help but notice the mysterious circumstances surrounding three local physicians. Two had been found dead in their own consulting rooms, mutilated in so ghastly a manner that the thought still churns my stomach. The other was missing, and judging from the amount of blood spattered in his rooms, he should be dead as well.

On this subject, Sherlock Holmes had strangely, despite his usual lethargy, taken to watching me carefully from his armchair when I had to leave to attend to my practice. It may just be a fancy, but I even suppose that I had caught him once or twice half-way between telling me to be careful as I went. When he did have occasion to leave our rooms with me, he would take my arm as we walked and look about in a decidedly suspicious fashion. One evening I made a point to comment on this and he pushed the notion aside with a derisive snort.

Getting back to the case, I was proven right about his uplift in mood as I spied a coach pulling up just in front of our door. I squinted to get a better look at the occupant as he all but jumped to the sidewalk, but the rain obscured my vision.

"I believe we'll have a client in a moment, Holmes," I informed my companion.

He looked up quite suddenly from the chemicals he was messing about with, a hint of pleasure in his grey eyes. A smile twitched at his lips as there came the sounds of a knock at the front door and our landlady showing someone in. Quickly throwing on his waistcoat, Holmes moved to the door and threw it open. Our soon-to-be client stood with his hand upraised, obviously just prepared to knock.

"Come in, Dr. Mayhew!" Holmes beckoned.

"Mayhew?" I echoed, getting a better look at our client. I daresay I must have looked quite shocked. "By God, it is you!"

There was no mistaking the man before me. With his dark hair, fair complexion and the most curiously deep blue eyes I'd ever seen, Charles Mayhew looked just as I'd remembered him when we'd gone to school as young boys. Dark circles hung around his eyes and he was slightly damp from the rain, but he offered me one of those bright smiles of old all the same.

"Watson, it is ever so good to see you again," he said, relief flooding his features as he shook my hand heartily. He glanced once at my companion. "I suppose it would be rather pointless to ask how you knew my name, sir, if you are as celebrated as our mutual friend makes you out to be."

I knew for a fact that Mayhew had been mentioned at least once in the papers, but how Holmes had deduced the fact that he would arrive on our doorstep was beyond me for the moment.

"Well doctor, you can judge that for yourself," Holmes said, making a beeline for his armchair. "Please, sit and tell us what it is that brings you here."

"Yes, I suppose I shall," Mayhew said, lowering himself onto the sofa.

Sitting next to him, I drew my notebook from my waistcoat pocket and opened it to a fresh page. Holmes struck up his briarwood pipe and peered at Mayhew through half-lidded eyes from behind a veil of smoke.

"You've no doubt heard of the events surrounding three of my fellow physicians," Mayhew began.

"Yes, I believe Watson read me a clip or two from the _Times_," Holmes replied, motioning for the other to continue.

"All three of those men were colleagues of mine. When Dr. Grisham was found dead, at first I just thought it was a terrible... terrible mishap," Mayhew began, a distant look in his eyes. "But with Harlow following afterwards and the disappearance of Matthews, my wife began to worry terribly for my safety as well. I implored her not to worry on my account, for I was sure that this strange series of events had nothing to do with me. That was until the birds began appearing at my home in Horsham."

"Exactly what do you man by that?" Holmes asked, leaning forward.

"I'll show you here," Mayhew said, uncovering a small box which he'd brought with him.

As he removed the lid, my companion and I peered inside. At the bottom lay a small bird, motionless in death. The plumage was of interest, being black around the head and the wingtips, white on the underside and a cream color on its back. Its beak was short and the entire bird would fit quite easily in the palm of one's hand. Frowning, Holmes took the box onto his lap and, using a pencil he grabbed from his desk, began turning the little fellow over, the body having long gone stiff with rigor mortis.

"And you say there were others like this one?" he asked, not looking up from his examination.

"Yes. I would not have brought it to your attention but for the fact that I know one of my colleagues to have received a bird as well," Mayhew said.

We both looked up quite suddenly. "That detail was not ever mentioned in the papers," I said with a frown.

"I don't expect it was," Mayhew answered with a wry smile. "I am the only one who knew of it. The bird was received by Matthews. However..."

He trailed off, looking troubled and uncertain. I looked upon him with some pity. His countenance was troubled and it was evident he had not been sleeping as of late. Although pale in his younger days, he seemed unnaturally so now; white as a slip of paper and clammy as though he were in a fever. The bright blue eyes were bloodshot, the eyelids drooping and sunken in. He had a tendency to start bouncing his right knee as he spoke, and he constantly folded and unfolded his hands; all signs of a sort of nervous energy. The haunted look in his eyes was uncharacteristic of the boisterous, amicable boy I had known in my youth. Rising, I poured a glass of brandy and offered it to him, which he accepted with a look of thanks.

"Please proceed, Dr. Mayhew," Holmes urged, keen grey eyes alight with interest.

"The bird that Matthews received was alive. And he only received one. I have received multiple birds, all dead," Mayhew said shortly. "I had spoken to Matthews three days before he went missing and he told me of the bird and wondered who it could have been from."

"This bird was of the same size and had the same coloration?" Holmes probed.

"Yes, it was," Mayhew answered.

"Hum! Well, from the looks of it, this little fellow is not native to this region," Holmes said, still studying the poor creature. "Watson, would you be so good as to retrieve my 'C' index from the shelf?"

"Certainly," I responded, moving to do so.

"Now would you kindly find the entry on the Chickadee and read it aloud," he asked.

I perused through the pages until I found the entry requested. There was a picture of a small bird of similar coloring next to the text.

"The Chickadee is a small, common songbird, a passerine bird in the tit family Paridae. The black-capped, mountain, and Carolina chickadee habitat the Eastern Coast of the United States and some parts of Canada. The black tit, however, habitats Europe, Asia, and parts of Northern Africa. The breeding — "

"Thank you, that will be enough," Holmes said, still studying the bird. "Well, it appears that we have a _Poecile atricapillus_ on our hands. The clack-capped chickadee. Rather odd, I would say, when the black tit is far more readily available. Tell me, Dr. Mayhew, do you know of anyone in America who could have possibly sent the bird?"

Mayhew contemplated this for a moment and then shook his head. "I wish I could say I did, Mr. Holmes. I know people in America and I've had American patients as I resided there for a time... but the same could be said for many other countries as well."

"I see," my friend muttered. "And you no doubt are in fear of your life at this point?"

Mayhew opened his mouth only to snap it shut quite tightly, his face flushing slightly. Holmes steepled his fingers over the box containing the bird, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"There's no shame in it. You've been placed in quite a difficult situation," he said calmly. "Where have you been finding the birds?"

"The first one was on my doorstep. The second was in the garden and the third was right outside my bedroom window," Mayhew responded a tad shakily.

I felt great sympathy for my old schoolmate. His nerves were quite obviously in tatters and I didn't need Holmes's methods to see that the strain was becoming difficult to bear. However, if he was anything like the young lad I remembered, then he was most likely under considerably more strain than he was letting on. His strong jaw was still held proudly aloft, even as he related the experience to us.

"Did you consult the police?" I asked.

"I put a word in with Inspector Lestrade — "

"Hmph!" Holmes huffed.

" — who informed me that I should seek your counsel immediately," Mayhew finished, quirking an eyebrow.

Holmes seemed ever-so slightly pleased by this fact. "Excellent. Has the inspector placed a sentry at your home?"

"He was in the process of doing so when I left."

"And your office?"

"The same."

"This is quite the pretty little problem," Holmes admitted, his scrutinizing gaze bearing down on Mayhew. "But I sense that you are concerned for more than your own safety. Perhaps... that of your wife and four children?"

"How could you possibly know that detail?" Mayhew blurted, looking shocked.

"Your pocket watch chain," Holmes said, pointing. "I see that there is a coin attached to it. On one side the letters "S EE T" are engraved and on the other side "C" and "K." I know for a fact that your first name is Charles, therefore, it would stand to reason that the "C" would stand for you and the "K" would be for your wife. From here we can infer that the "S" is for your oldest, the "EE" is for your twins, and the "T" is for your youngest."

"Remarkable," Mayhew said suddenly. "You really are as gifted as they say, Mister Holmes."

My friend waved a hand dismissively. "Now, you are worried for your family despite your colleagues having been the only ones harmed. Correct?"

"Yes, but they were all bachelors, you see," Mayhew commented.

"Ah, yes, and so a family has yet to have been introduced to the equation," Holmes murmured, pressing a forefinger against his lips in thought.

He sat back in his armchair, head sunk upon his breast in deep thought. After a few moments of relative silence, Mayhew offered me a questioning glance. I nodded once, assuring him all was well. Not a minute later, Holmes looked up seeming as though he'd come to some sort of conclusion.

"I believe that I will need to make a trip to not only where the murders and abductions took place, but your home and practice as well, Dr. Mayhew, before I can begin to properly assess the situation," he related to us.

"Yes, of course," Mayhew said, nodding in understanding. "Shall I wait for you at my home or would you rather I accompany you?"

"Oh, I will need to question you further, so your presence would be most beneficial," Holmes informed him, striding quickly across the room and throwing the door open. Our client winced as my friend bellowed for our landlady. "Mrs. Hudson! Inform the cabby that Dr. Watson and I will be joining Dr. Mayhew!"

He paused for moment, looking thoughtful before turning to me.

"That is, of course, if you're interested in coming along," he said.

"I would be very much obliged if you would consider it," Mayhew added, a hint of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes. "I would understand should you wish to decline, but I would be more than pleased to put you both up for the night."

"Of course," I said. "I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."

"Capital! Well, Dr. Mayhew, we shall gather a few of our things and proceed to the office of the late Dr. Grisham to begin our own investigation," Holmes declared, swiftly disappearing into his bedroom.

As I hurriedly packed some of my things into a carpet-bag, I knew little of the strange series of events that would come to affect both my friend and myself for years to come.

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**-hides behind her doodle pad- I know, I know, it's frightfully awful for a first chapter! I've probably gone and butchered their characters something terrible. If you have any advice, I would be glad to hear it. More glad than you know. It has been one of my major vices in the past to take offense to constructive criticism; thinking it a shot at my person. But In this genre there simply is no room for my ego (Holmes's takes up enough space as it is)! Summing things up: thank you for putting up with my incessant ramblings and for reading thus far. I hope to see you again!**


	2. Chapter II: Puzzle Pieces

Ah! So sorry for the rather long stretch of time between my last chapter and this one. I've been rather preoccupied with school, you see. I only just graduated last Friday and it has been quite a difficult run for me. Although I do enjoy frightening people with my hospital horror stories...

But I digress. Thank you, thank you, thank you! A thousand times, thank you, to all my lovely reviewers. I never expected such a warm and welcoming response (I think I just might stay, haha). You were most helpful, and I truly did enjoy reading all of your responses. I've gone back and tweaked a thing or two after reading your reviews, so hopefully they will fit more to your liking.

I had a bit of difficulty in writing this chapter, if only because of how rarely I was able to find time to write. I find I write much better when I can do it in one or two sittings. Writing a single chapter over the course of a few weeks does give me trouble... So you will, of course, tell me where and how I can improve upon it? I would appreciate it greatly. Thank you very much in advance to anyone who may read and/or review.

Cheers!  
You Float My Boat

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**DISCLAIMER:** No, no, I don't own them. If I did, you could hardly expect me to be posting this! Really! So for now I must be content with my Holmes!Muse and my Watson!Muse. Watson!Muse and I bounce writing ideas off each other. Holmes!Muse does not approve.

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**Chapter II: Puzzle Pieces**

It wasn't very long before we were rattling along in Charles Mayhew's coach. Seeing as my friend Sherlock Holmes had adopted that look which told me to leave him well enough alone, I engaged our client in conversation, hoping to catch up and lighten his spirits.

"You've settled down quite nicely," I said. "How well does your practice fair?"

"Yes, I've had a successful career thus far. It's allowed me to set aside enough funds so as to ensure my family's comfort," Mayhew replied with a smile and a look of sincerity. "My offices are here in London, but as I mentioned before, I take residence in West Sussex. I find the fresh air is good for my youngest."

"Is there something wrong with the child?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, I don't mean to alarm you. Tobias was born with a bit of a weak heart, that is all. The open space and our occasional trips to the shore have done him wonders over the years. He is becoming a regular rogue like the twins," Mayhew answered with a laugh. "But come, what of you, my old friend? What have you been up to?"

My gaze briefly traveled to the thin, pale form of Holmes, reclining with his eyes closed in deep thought against the seat. What had I been up to, indeed! I was quite certain that if I were to relate any of the unusual hobbies of my dear friend to my old schoolmate he would scarcely believe me. I laugh looking back at it now, because at that point I'd only seen the tip of the strange and wonderful iceberg that was Sherlock Holmes.

I briefly detailed to my peer the injury which had brought me to London and the manner in which I had found myself at 221B Baker Street. He smiled briefly during my story despite his anxieties, apparently pleased to put the shadow looming over him out of mind at present.

"I'm sorry to hear it, old fellow," he said. "It must have been a horrendous injury. Does it bother you terribly?"

"Once every so often, when the weather is foul," I replied. "But it is really nothing."

"Come now, you performed a great service for our Queen and country. I should call it something of a mark of honor," Mayhew countered earnestly.

I laughed. "Then it is certainly quite the bothersome 'mark of honor.'"

It wasn't long before our coach rattled to a halt, the sharp click of the horses' hooves ceasing abruptly. Upon opening the door, we were greeted by the ferret-like features of one Inspector Lestrade. He stood vigilantly by the rod-iron fence in the front of the building, waiting patiently for us to come forward.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, Dr. Mayhew," he greeted politely, inclining his head toward each of us.

"Ah, Lestrade, how good to see you," Holmes drawled. "And may I say how astute of you to realize we were coming."

"I know your habits well enough," Lestrade sighed, pushing the gate open; not even wincing as a horrendous squeak issued forth from the oil-deprived hinges. "I had figured you would not be satisfied until you had poked your nose about every last mouse hole in the vicinity. I've made sure to keep things relatively intact, on that note, other than the obvious removal of the body."

"Good man, Lestrade!" Holmes replied, a quick grin flashing across his features. "That will be most helpful in my observations."

The four of us made our way up a short flight of stairs onto a cracked stone landing. I allowed myself to observe the exterior of the building. It was quite obviously an older building — Queen Anne, or perhaps Georgian in construction — as the once sturdy brickwork was crumbling steadily, moss making its home on the mortar between the bricks. We shortly gained access after Lestrade nodded to two burly constables guarding the front door. From a fellow doctor's perspective, I could tell that the practice had seen better days before we'd even entered the building. Walking down the short, narrow hallway lined with chipped white paint and hideous, peeling green wallpaper only confirmed my suspicions. I had begun to wonder just who might render themselves a patient under a physician practicing in such conditions when Lestrade stopped just short of a room, extending his arm towards it.

"This is where the murder took place, gentlemen," he announced.

"You're quite sure of that?" Holmes queried.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at this comment and I found my thoughts falling in line with those that surely ran through his head. Holmes had not so much as glanced at the room in question. Had he really found something already?

"Yes, we're fairly certain of that," Lestrade answered. "Based on the blood splatter on the walls, the angle of the body, and the amount of blood collected on the floor we're quite certain indeed."

"Ah, but there were a number of wounds, were there not? This may be the spot where most of the injuries were inflicted, but I am doubtful that it is where the actual murder took place," Holmes explained. "I understand that there was a very _interesting_ artifact found implanted within one of the bodies."

"Yes, you're right. We found what looked to be an arrow tip of some sort embedded in the small of Dr. Grisham's back," Lestrade replied.

"And did you, by any chance, examine the body for traces of any sort of poison?" my companion probed further.

"Poison?" Lestrade echoed, laughing incredulously. "Why, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Grisham's body was so severely mutilated I could hardly see the point in doing so. Are you suggesting that Grisham was first poisoned in another room, expired, then was dragged in here where our killer proceeded to scalp, skin and disembowel him?"

"I am," Holmes said seriously.

"I realize the oddity of the case, but to make such a stretch of it..." the inspector sighed. "Do you have any reason for this theory of yours?"

Holmes paused, eyes roving over the room. His penetrating gaze found its way to Mayhew and myself and he folded his thin, sinewy arms across his chest confidently.

"Dr. Watson, Dr. Mayhew," he began, "would you mind examining the blood spatter and giving Inspector Lestrade and myself your _professional_ opinions on the matter?"

Mayhew looked to me uncertainly, his complexion somewhat more ashen than before. Obviously the the thought of examining the hideous scene was not resting well with him. As medical men, we were well used to sights that would turn other men's stomachs, but the matter became quite different when you were examining someone you knew. It may have just been the blood, but I could see that in Mayhew's mind, he was seeing Grisham himself. Laying what I hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder seemed to calm him somewhat, as he drew a pair of spectacles from the inner pocket of his waistcoat and cradled them on his slightly crooked nose.

We two proceeded to examine the scene together, Holmes watching with a look of smug satisfaction as he he stood by Lestrade. The majority of the blood had found its way to the floor, but there seemed to be a good deal splattered against the wall and surrounding furniture. Finding Mayhew's gaze, I decided that we'd come to the same conclusion.

"Well, doctors?" Holmes prompted.

"Jamey was dead before this... mutilation took place," Mayhew answered distractedly, his attention focused on the large blood stain in the center of the floor. "Thank God."

"Exactly how can you tell?" Lestrade prodded curiously, any hint of childish competition sapped from his voice.

"The majority of the blood has pooled here on the floor," I pointed out. "There is some significant bit of it on the furniture and walls, but we must take into account the heart. Now, we all know that most important organ works like a a pump, circulating blood throughout the body. Despite the vast amount of blood here, you would have found a far more gruesome scene had these injuries been inflicted pre-mortem. If the heart had stopped, then only gravity would allow blood to escape the body. Had it still been beating, based on the level of mutilation that the body must have suffered, I well expect you would have found blood on the ceiling as well. No, this was definitely a post-mortem job."

Mayhew nodded his agreement, but made little move to reply in any other way. Holmes nodded in satisfaction, Lestrade looking much the same with what we'd found. As my companion and the inspector moved to another room, the former speaking animatedly, I turned my attention to my old schoolmate who had remained behind. He had drawn a handkerchief and was now wiping at his damp brow in an obviously shaken state. Where before he'd been transfixed by the blood, he now seemed determined to avoid the sight of it at all costs, staggering into the hallway. I followed with some concern, as he looked as though he might be ill. Propped against the wall for support, he waved a shaking, but dismissive hand.

"I am sorry that you must see me in such a state, Watson," he apologized, drawing in a deep breath.

"Nonsense, Mayhew. Any man would be in pieces over this," I said consolingly.

"Still, I... James Grisham, Jamey, he was a good doctor. A good man. He just... fell on hard times, is all," Mayhew babbled, dark hair falling over his sunken eyes as he shook his head heavily. "He was never the same after his wife passed. He couldn't keep up with his practice; blamed himself for her death! And now... and now _this_."

He brought a hand over his face and I waited in respectful silence for him to compose himself. He drew a few deep, calming breaths and straightened himself, tucking the handkerchief away. Even as he did so, he seemed too ashamed of the momentary lapse of his self-control to look me in the eye.

"I'm sorry, very much so," he apologized once again. "I'm just concerned. My wife and children — "

"Will be well taken care of. Inspector Lestrade will see to that," I said, cutting him short. "For now, you should worry about yourself. Try to think of anyone who might have a motive or something to gain by all this. Anything, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you, could be of use."

Mayhew paused thoughtfully. "You seem to place a lot of trust in Mr. Holmes."

"He's odd in his methods, but he gets the job done better than any I've seen," I answered with a light smile.

"Odd is certainly right," Mayhew replied, seeing my companion throw himself onto the carpet in the room down the hall. "Is he a bit... mad, do you suppose?"

I chose not to answer as I beckoned him to follow me. Holmes was just straightening up as we entered the room. He held what appeared to be a sliver of wood between his thumb and forefinger, his keen grey eyes shining in triumph as folded it into a handkerchief for safe keeping.

"We would do well to have a specialist in South American vegetation analyze this," he announced.

"Very well," Lestrade said with a sigh and a shake of his head. He certainly didn't see where this was leading... but then, people rarely saw where one such as Holmes was leading.

"Hmm, yes," Holmes murmured to himself. "I believe we're done here. We shall now proceed to the practice of the late Dr. Harlow!"

* * *

I found the late Dr. Harlow's practice to be in much better condition than that of his unfortunate associate. Although not overly wealthy, Harlow did seem to have lived in relative comfort. The brickwork was neat and orderly, free of moss or vine, and the paint was a clan and refreshing white. Holmes wasted no time in bounding up the stone steps and into the building. By the time we had caught up with him, he was already leaving the room where the body had been found and was making his way quickly up a flight of stairs to the next floor.

"Holmes, are you sure you gave it a good enough look?" I called after him.

"I have seen all that there was to see!" he called from somewhere above me. "I only need now to locate a — Ha! Here it is!"

With that, he came thundering down the stairway and was upon me so quickly that I sparsely had time to think. He had laid a hand on my shoulder, his other outstretched to direct our attention to what he held. If I didn't know any better, I would have I said I might have felt him quivering with excitement.

"Look here, gentlemen, and tell me what you see," he instructed.

"Why, isn't that very similar to the splinter you found in Jamey's home?" Mayhew inquired, mouth agape.

"Quite similar," Holmes answered. "In fact, very nearly identical."

"Well, this has become very peculiar," Lestrade remarked. "I'm surprised we overlooked them."

"Of course you overlooked them, you weren't looking for them in the first place," Holmes corrected. "At a glance, it would look like an ordinary sliver of wood. But upon closer examination..."

"It was carved," I announced, reaching to take hold of it.

I was surprised when my companion pulled back sharply. "Careful, Watson! In all likelihood the tip of this is still quite deadly."

"Poison," Lestrade remarked flatly.

"Precisely," Holmes answered, tucking the splinter away with its companion. "Let's be off."

* * *

Holmes pressed a long, thin finger to his pursed lips as he stepped carefully about the room, his eyes all but glued to the floor. We had arrived at the practice of one Dr. Oliver Matthews, the only victim out of the three whose body had yet to be found. Like the papers had detailed, there was a terrible amount of blood at the scene; just enough to cause me to doubt the poor man was still among the living.

"Lestrade, did you happen to come across a bird of any kind while you were investigating?" Holmes asked.

"There was one he kept as a pet of sorts, yes. Why do you ask?" Lestrade queried.

"Oh, I know very well where the little fellow is, Mr. Holmes," Mayhew interrupted. "Shall I retrieve him?"

"I would be most grateful," Holmes answered, his eyes once again traveling about the room.

I watched Mayhew exit the room swiftly; he seemed relieved to be away from the mess before us. Earlier in the day I had, in my own mind, questioned Holmes's judgment in bringing Mayhew along to each of the scenes. It did seem a terribly cruel thing to do to the man, who was shaken enough as it was. Yet, at the same time, I found it to be necessary. Mayhew was very closely acquainted with these gentlemen, so it would stand to reason that he might be able to pick out anything unusual about the scenes. He returned just as quickly as he'd left, a cage held aloft in one hand. The black-capped chickadee hopped along the length of the cage, regarding us curiously through beady black eyes.

"It is unfortunate that he must be so ill an omen," Mayhew commented, opening the cage and allowing the bird to perch on his fingers. "He's actually quite the friendly little creature. Clever enough, too. Oliver and I had laughed about it not so long ago."

"Lestrade, does the bird look at all familiar to you?" Holmes asked.

Lestrade outstretched his arm, allowing the bird to hop aboard. Reeling his arm back in, he brought the creature closer to his face for examination. I couldn't contain a chuckle as the little fellow stuck its head out and began twisting it this way and that in its own inspection. No sooner had he taken the bird did Lestrade's eyes light up.

"Now that I look at him, yes," he announced. "At the very least I've seen two like him."

"Two, you say?" I remarked.

"Yes. One was found crushed in Grisham's right hand when we brought his body in for examination," Lestrade informed us. "The other was nailed to an examination table in Harlow's consulting room. I'd sent a couple of my men about to any fowl keepers, but they hadn't turned up anything as yet. Interesting... not native to here, is it?"

"Correct, Lestrade," Holmes said with a quick smirk. "And now we see that the pieces begin to fall together. Still, there is not enough data present to come to anything conclusive as yet..."

"But I can see you've already come to a conclusion on at least one point," I offered.

"That much is true," Holmes acknowledged. "I believe Dr. Matthews is alive, or at the very least was so when he was abducted."

"Then do you suppose there's hope that we may yet find him in time?" Mayhew questioned.

"If by 'in time' you mean 'before he expires,' then yes," Holmes answered. "But any other questions on the matter will need to wait. By this time tomorrow, I should be able to give you a detailed account of what has taken place here. For now, we had best continue on to your offices Dr. Mayhew."

"Just a moment Holmes," I blurted. "What of those splinters? Shouldn't we look for one here as well?"

"I have already done so Watson," Holmes explained, waving an impatient and dismissive hand. "There was not a one to be found."

"So then following your theory, Matthews was most likely not poisoned?" Lestrade asked.

"Most likely not," Holmes replied.

"Why Grisham and Harlow, but not Matthews?" Lestrade wondered aloud.

"That is what I hope to find out," Holmes said, quickly disappearing down the hall.

* * *

Some time later found us riding quietly towards Charles Mayhew's home in Horsham. After stopping by his practice, which offered little as far as the facts that Holmes required, we had parted ways with Lestrade and thought it best to get down to the place that our client was most concerned about.

Mayhew's home was a fair distance away from the hustle and bustle of nearby towns and other homes; cloaked on all sides by large old oaks. I recalled from our youth that he had come from a long line of reputable physicians and therefore was able to conclude that this was the home he had inherited from his ancestors. It was large and made of old, grey stone, but offered quite a welcoming aura, especially when coupled with the array of vibrant flowers surrounding its borders. I felt quite at ease when we had exited our coach and began walking towards the front door, a few rays of sunshine peaking through the formerly foreboding cloud cover as we did so.

No sooner had we reached the front door than shouting assailed our ears. Mayhew whipped 'round in a panic, darting quickly around the edge of the old masonry to see what was the matter. Sharing a look of curiosity and concern (and perhaps excitement on my companion's part), Holmes and I quickly followed, only to see three young constables appearing from the woodwork.

Two figures came running towards Mayhew.

"Father!" they chorused.

Mayhew stopped dead in his tracks. "What's happened? What is it?"

"Nothing, only we had found this bird down by the pond," one of them answered.

"His wing's broken. Do you suppose we could take him inside and patch him up?" the other asked.

"Another black-capped chickadee," I mused, looking to the bird.

Mayhew glanced to Holmes, who nodded once. "Yes. Very well... But do introduce yourselves before you go running off again. Gentlemen, these are my twins."

Quite obviously these two boys were the twins Holmes had mentioned earlier. They were rather short of stature, but judging by the shock of fiery red hair that each sported, probably well made up for it in spirit. They were slim and pale of complexion with a spattering of freckles across their nose and cheeks. They had the same curiously deep blue eyes as their father, but unlike him, theirs held a spark of mischief that was plain to see. With knickers and shirt cuffs rolled up to their knees and elbows, I could only imagine what they could have been doing down at the pond.

"So _you_ are Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson," one of them decided. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My name's Edward."

"And mine's Emily," the other offered, cradling the bird tenderly.

I dare say my shock must have shown on my face, for they grinned like two Cheshire Cats. Although oddly feminine in appearance for boys, I couldn't bring myself to believe that one of them was female. Clothed entirely like a young boy and with boyishly short hair to match, it just did not seem probable that Emily was what she claimed to be.

"Forgive them, Watson," Mayhew said with a sigh, rumpling Edward's hair in a good natured manner. "Eddy and Emmy do so love to keep people guessing. It's one their, ah..._ hobbies_."

"Not at all," I said, still a tad confused. "They took me by surprise alright. They're quite good at their hobby."

"But I suspect you won't be very much fun in trying to fool, will you, Mr. Holmes?" Emily asked.

My companion offered the twins a rare grin. "I know very well that won't stop you from trying."

"Not in the slightest," Edward returned. "Shall I go inform mother and Sammy that you've arrived?"

"Yes, please, that would be most helpful," Mayhew answered, sending them off.

The twins each gave an amusing sort of mock-bow before scuttling off towards the house in search of their mother. I allowed myself a small chuckle over their antics and Mayhew grinned sheepishly, perhaps more at ease now that he was once more at home with his family.

"My apologies. They can be a bit of a handful, but they really are good children," he explained. "I shall make sure they are clear out of your way during your stay here."

"Oh, no, no," Holmes quickly replied. "They might prove to be of some use during my inspections. I can see they have spent time traveling with Chinese acrobats."

"Well, yes, but... Good heavens, Mr. Holmes," Mayhew babbled. "How ever did you know?"

"Well, I have run into one or two Chinese acrobats myself," Holmes explained. "Both your twins show a certain development in their dexterity that is found only in these said acrobats, as young Edward so helpfully displayed by vaulting himself over that garden wall."

Mayhew looked over his shoulder, apparently having missed his son's act of acrobatics, and shook his head at said wall. "Simply astounding."

"I can also conclude that you've traveled to some very exotic areas... China, Africa, Greece..." Holmes rattled off. "Have your family and servants go about their business as usual, Dr. Mayhew, for I have no doubt that they will be of service to us in the very near future."

"Well, as you wish, then," Mayhew said slowly, surprise still etched into his features.

Holmes nodded, his keen grey eyes beginning to take in the area. "Now, back to the subject of our feathered friends... and the constables that Lestrade has so kindly loaned to us."

"Inspector said t' stand guard and comply wiv whatever requests yew might 'ave," one of the constables piped up; a fair-haired young man with warm chocolate eyes. "I'm Jones. This 'ere is Evans and Granby."

"Have you been here long?" I asked.

"Only for a few hours, sir," Granby offered, blue-hazel eyes darting once towards the main door, as though to show us his previous position. "Inspector Lestrade thought it best if we guarded here while he kept watch on Dr. Mayhew's practice in London."

"Hum! We could have done with more _experienced_ officers," Holmes noted. Secretly, I shared his sentiments. The three constables before us did seem to be a tad wet behind the ears; something that I didn't believe would bode well in this most delicate of situations.

Jones's complexion went red with annoyance. Just as he seemed ready to explode on the spot, Evans gently interceded, speaking to us in a calm, amicable tone.

"Well, for that I must apologize, Mr. Holmes," he said. "We three are a bit new, but we intend to do our job well, if you'll give us the chance. Not to mention we were really all that Scotland Yard could afford at the moment, what with how busy this case has kept us."

"I'm sure they'll do quite well," Mayhew intoned a tad hopefully.

"Very well. One question before you return to your posts: You haven't seen anyone about the grounds since your arrival, have you?" Holmes asked.

"No one besides the family and the servants," Granby replied.

"I see. Thank you, that will be enough for now," Holmes said, casting a critical eye over them as they proceeded to do so. "Bit of a temper on that Jones, eh Watson?"

"He's young Holmes," I offered on his defense. "Now, what about that bird?"

"Yes, it was quite strange to see it injured," Mayhew murmured, gaze traveling to the pond. "If it was truly down by the pond, then it would have been much further from the house than the others."

I frowned, a thought coming to mind. "Holmes, you don't suppose that whoever left the bird was here very recently?"

"It's possible Watson, it's possible," Holmes answered. "Dr. Mayhew, kindly retrieve your twins and meet us at the pond. I would like to know _exactly_ how this bird was found."

"Of course. I won't be a moment," Mayhew said, hurrying off.

"There's something strange in all this, Watson. And I mean to get to the bottom of it," Holmes said.

He set off toward the pond with determination in his stride; I following along with more than a little wariness in mine.

* * *

-lights cigarette and lowers blindfold- Alright, I'm ready. D:


	3. Chapter III: A Family Affair

**Goodness! I do apologize for the long span between my updates. Recently Ive just been so busy; had my wisdom teeth extracted, got a job, prepared for college (I'm taking Criminal Justice!) and camping... phew. I'm rather pooped by it all. I'm pretty pleased with this chapter, but I do wish I could have spent a little more quality time with it... I had to rush to wrap it up before I left for Maine because we have no internet connection there!**

**Still, I believe it came out all right all the same. And I did so love my little bit with the game and Watson's fear of... well. You'll see.**

**A thousand thank you's to all of my reviewers. As always, I really appreciate you taking the time to leave a review and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is always a welcome guest!**

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Inspector Lestrade, etc. I'm merely borrowing them.

* * *

**Chapter III:** A Family Affair

I watched Holmes busily begin to inspect the grass around the pond; no doubt looking for any trace of footprints. Standing a good distance out of his way so as to allow him room to work, I attempted to do the same. It quickly became apparent to me that the area was one of high traffic and at present it would prove impossible to pick out those left by our mysterious perpetrator. Hearing a call, I turned my head slightly and found Mayhew and his twins making their way towards us with a young man I assumed was his eldest. Closer towards the house, a red-headed woman sat with a small boy whose hair was of the same shade, and I concluded they were his wife and son.

"Dr. Watson?" the dark-haired young man inquired, his bright emerald eyes peering at me curiously.

"Yes, that would be me. And who might I have the pleasure of addressing?" I asked.

"Of course, forgive me. My name is Samuel," he said, shaking my hand firmly with an air of hospitality. He was the spitting image of his father, with the obvious exception of his eyes. Nodding his head politely, he then looked to my companion. "And you must be Mr. Holmes."

Holmes didn't answer, seemingly focused on something he'd discovered along the water's edge. Samuel raised a curious eyebrow, obviously not used to being ignored. He seemed ready to say something, when his father silenced him with a stern look and shake of his head.

"A pleasure to meet you," Holmes said, rising. "Now, where did the two of you find that bird?"

"He was right along here, Mr. Holmes," Edward said, walking some ten feet away. "Emmy and I were studying this moss and heard him making quite a fuss over in this patch of daisies."

"You remained in one spot, then," Holmes stated.

"The particular sample we were studying was on this rock, here, so no. Moss doesn't tend to get up and walk off, so we stayed put," Edward answered.

"And did you see anyone at all approach this area? That includes people you know," he prodded further.

"No one at all," Emily confirmed. "Though, we were only out here for an hour or so before you arrived, in all honesty. If someone had been here, Eddy and I wouldn't have known. We've been at the Mortons' for most of the day."

"And you?" Holmes asked, looking to Samuel.

The young man shook his head. "I was covering father's practice. I arrived only a short time before you. Mother and Toby have been here all day, though I sincerely doubt they've seen anything, else they would have mentioned it."

Holmes nodded slowly, processing this information. Tapping his chin, he walked some distance along the edge of the pond, then knelt, drawing our attention to the area.

"I see here that these cattails have been disturbed. Notice the way the stems are bent and broken? They're still moist around where the break occurred... quite obviously they were disturbed only recently. No later than noon," Holmes assessed. "I can take it this was not caused by you during your studies?"

"As I said, we remained in one spot," Edward answered.

"There would have been no reason for any of the staff to be in this area either, though you're free to question them if you believe it would help," Mayhew added.

"Perhaps after I have examined the other places where the birds were found," Holmes replied. He looked to Samuel and the twins. "In the mean time, if you wouldn't mind asking your mother and brother if they had seen anything, you would save us precious time."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," Samuel answered. "Anything at all we can do to help."

Before leaving with the twins, Samuel paused, nodded politely and turned his father away for a private word. We had only to wait a moment before Mayhew clapped the young man on the shoulder and sent him off across the lawn. After watching his children return to their mother, he returned to us with a somewhat sobering smile and implored us to continue.

* * *

We made our way 'round the outside of the house, visiting each spot where Mayhew had found a bird. I expected to see some sort of reaction from my friend that would give our client hope, but instead as we proceeded, I only saw his features darken in thought... and not positive thought. I inquired about this as Mayhew busied himself in trying to shoo the twins off a tall oak they'd climbed in order to spy on us.

"It is nothing," he replied tersely, waving a hand. "I just rather wish I had been consulted _sooner_ on this, for the combined efforts of the elements and foot traffic have obliterated any useful clues I could have gathered."

"Surely there must be something," I insisted.

Holmes clucked his tongue. "No, Watson, I believe we are dealing with a different sort."

"'Different sort,'" I echoed, mulling it over. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Later. I shall explain later when I have further gathered facts," Holmes answered as Mayhew returned once more to our side.

"Gentlemen, it is getting on in the evening. Your mere presence has put my heart at ease, and so I insist you rest and join us for dinner in an hour," Mayhew said with a slight grin.

I expected Holmes to wave this offer aside in favor of continuing his investigation, but to my complete and utter surprise, he did just the opposite. Holmes politely accepted the offer and it wasn't long before we found ourselves gathered in the dining area. Mrs. Mayhew and son Tobias were introduced and we sat to dine.

"Dr. Watson, you do not look nearly old enough to have attended classes with father," young Tobias announced, pushing some greens to the corner of his plate.

Sharing a glance, Mayhew and I chuckled lightly over the innocent deduction.

"Well, your father is some ten years older than myself," I answered.

"Dr. Watson was about the only one who would care to put up with me," Mayhew added.

"Oh, come now, you weren't all that unpopular," I retorted.

"Well, I cannot imagine that being a decade older than your classmates would be entirely enjoyable," Holmes input. "I see that a weak heart, no doubt where your son has inherited it from, and your stubborn nature put you in such a position?"

"Stubborn?" Mrs. Mayhew said with a laugh, her Irish brogue coming in strong. "That would be quite the understatement, Mr. Holmes. Rather than be sensible and take his classes at home, he decided to wait until he was well enough to attend them himself!"

"Not and all-together terrible thing, I would say," I offered with a grin.

"Well, it is of no use to dwell upon it now," Mayhew said with an embarrassed cough. "Although, Watson, there was that one occasion in the schoolyard after classes... when we first met?"

"In the school—... Oh! Heavens, yes, I remember!" I answered brightly, laughing. "Quite the occasion, that."

"Oh, do tell," Edward said eagerly.

"Edward, elbows," Mayhew interrupted.

The young man pulled a face and quickly took his elbows off the table, mumbling something about "medical schooling" and "wouldn't be able to tell him to much longer."

"Well, you can imagine I had a bit of a rough time of things. I very well should have painted a target on my back for all the trouble I received. Being ill had left me not only weak, but smaller than children in my age bracket so that I fit in size rather well with Watson's lot. Still, once the other children learned of my age I became something of a class outcast. I was picked on, roughed up, and treated rather poorly," Mayhew explained. "But wouldn't you know that one day, a group of boys we called "The Nowheres," as that was where they seemed to be headed in life, were in the process of adding a few new bruises to my collection when our friend Watson here breaks through their ranks and shouts, 'Fine lot you are, picking on him! It's not his fault that he's slow!'"

I admit, I must have turned some very dark shade of red upon hearing this repeated, for when I glanced to Holmes he wore a smirk filled to the brim with schadenfreude at my embarrassment.

"Of course, we were only children," Mayhew said hurriedly.

"Of course," Holmes echoed, smirk still in place.

"In any case, Watson earned himself a few bruises of his own and a great black eye to show off the next day. We became rather close friends and no one dared to bother me again," Mayhew ended.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Mayhew said with a smile. "I had always wondered how he had survived childhood."

"We all know dadkins couldn't have done it on his own," Samuel added.

"Now, as you can see, after we parted ways, I started a family so that _they_ could tease me instead," Mayhew snorted.

By the time dessert had come 'round, we were all in quite a pleasant mood, the troubles earlier in the day temporarily forgotten in the presence of pleasant company. I was slightly perplexed, however, when Emily insisted that we play a game.

"Oh, you shall enjoy it, though I fear it may be too easy for Mr. Holmes," she said. "Eddy and I shall begin. Now, you must imagine that we are spending a day at the beach. Each of us is in charge of bringing things. In turn you will ask if you may bring something and I will answer with a yes or a no. Firstly... I will bring my elbow. Eddy?"

"Oh, how about the enamel on my teeth?" Edward proposed.

"Oh, yes, we could use that. Father?"

"Ah... perhaps an umbrella?" Mayhew asked.

"Oh, no, you can't bring an umbrella. It simply won't do at the beach," Emily answered, receiving perplexed looks from the majority of the table.

"May I bring the cat?" Tobias asked.

"Certainly not the cat. Mr. Holmes?"

"I suppose I shall bring sand," Holmes said, the corners of his lips upturned in something of a smile.

"Excellent! We could use sand at the beach!" Emily ejaculated.

"I should think there was already quite enough of it there already," I stated. "Perhaps a blanket then."

"No, not at all."

And so it went that we continued to suggest things to bring to the beach, coming no closer to perceiving an end to the game. Holmes, for his part seemed only to grow more amused as I grew more frustrated. At last, we were all on the verge of giving up.

"I shouldn't do that if I were you," Edward warned. "You'll only kick yourself when you discover the trick of it."

"We've been sitting here for nigh on a half an hour and have come no closer to any sort of conclusion," I protested. "At one point we may have brought something, but at the very next suggestion we found we could not. Yet you, your sister, and Holmes may bring each thing you suggest."

"Come now, Watson, the answer is right in front of you!" Holmes said. "You know my methods. Apply them. What areas have our answers differed from yours? I suggested sand, sun, supper, salt, and squids. The clever twins have suggested things such as elbows, enamel, eggs, edifices, exoskeletons, and eulogies. Think a moment."

All of us did so. "Ah! Whatever you suggest must begin with the same letter as what you suggested previously."

"Excellent, Watson!" Holmes said. "Do you perceive anything else?"

I thought on it for a moment and, quite suddenly, it came for me. Now, it could very well be that the twins' mischievous mood was contagious, but I had the sudden urge to keep the secret to myself.

"Shall I bring a jar, then?"

"A jar would be _splendid_," Holmes announced, looking to the twins. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Entirely," the two chorused.

"I might even venture to put jam in the jar," I said with a laugh.

"That would be better than we could have anticipated," Emily answered.

"Watson, you're terribly cruel, you know," Mayhew insisted.

"That's amusing, seeing as you were singing his praises not even one hour ago," Mrs. Mayhew answered him, provoking a laugh from the majority of the table.

"All right, all right, that's enough of that," Mayhew said after some time, a red flush having taken residence upon his face. "Do tell us what the trick is or I fear I shall get no sleep to-night."

"It's deucedly simply once you look at it properly," I said. "The twins only brought things that began with the letter E. Holmes only brought things that began with the letter S. I only brought things that began with the letter J."

"Now I see!" Samuel said. "You may only bring things that begin with the first letter of your _name_!"

There was a shared groan of disappointment shared 'round half the table. Young Tobias, however, furrowed his brow deeply in thought.

"But 'Holmes' begins with an H and 'Watson' begins with a W," he insisted.

"Yes, but Sherlock begins with an S and John begins with a J," Holmes corrected him.

Tobias stared, wide-eyed. "What's a sherlock?"

"Oh, it's a terrible thing," I said, barely managing to suppress a laugh.

"How very amusing, Watson," Holmes snorted, chin resting on his hand as his elbow on the table.

Edward quite suddenly pointed wildly at my companion. "There, you see? _Mr. Holmes_ gets to put his elbow on the table!"

My outburst of laughter was quite worth the icy glare I received from the world's foremost consulting detective.

* * *

Despite the fact that we had dined only a few hours prior, the amiable energy shared at the table seemed a distant thing of the past. I lay in bed, unable to coax sleep from the decorative engravings in the ceiling as I stared up at them. My nerves had been set on edge as thoughts raced quickly to my mind. The more I attempted to control them, the faster they flowed. The weather had taken a turn for the worse; the wind howled ominously as tree branches scraped at the windows and the frame of the house groaned under the intensity of the oncoming storm. I could hear just as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminated my room, a peal of thunder cracked overhead, causing me to jump slightly.

The noise had sounded so very like a gunshot. It was not something I was pleased to admit, and I would never admit such a thing to my companion, but ever since my return from my campaign in Afghanistan, I found my nerves were often shaken viciously when at the hands of a thunderstorm. It would sound like a silly phobia to any other man, but it was enough to keep me frozen stiff. How many times had I lain in trenches during a seemingly endless storm in a seemingly infinite night? How often had the thunder boomed above me, leaving me unsure... Was it thunder or gunshots? Sometimes one could not tell. Such storms disoriented, confused the senses. Was that a tree stump in the field or your enemy creeping towards you using the pelting rain as his cover? It was only in the briefest instant where the lightning flashed, reflecting off his rifle as it was aimed at your chest, that you could be sure.

At the next boom of thunder—it sounded as though it were right on top of the family home—I roused myself from my bed and reached for the lamp. Lighting it enough so that I could see my way but not enough to disturb anyone else, I silently slipped from my room. It wasn't my nature to go wandering about a person's home when I was there as a guest, but remaining in bed would do me no good at all. Glancing down the hall, I noticed the door to my companion's room was slightly ajar. It was dark within and I began to wonder if he was asleep. Normally on a case, his energy ran to high for him to get a moment's rest. I wondered if perhaps he, too, was off on a nocturnal wandering.

As I walked quietly down the corridor lightning flashed, illuminating the hall briefly. I squinted. It could have been my eyes playing tricks, but I had sworn I'd seen someone else moving about. Whoever it was, their body frame was to thick to be that of my companion, and to tall to be that of my host. A sudden anxiety rushed my system and I wished I had brought my old service revolver with me. The figure had been near the room that belonged to the young Tobias. Knowing I couldn't very well stand idle if something was amiss with the child, I hurried down the rest of the corridor as silently as the ancient floorboards would permit.

The door was wide-open. Peering inside, I could see that the bed was empty; the sheets tangled and tossed about. A quick inspection told me there was no one in the room. Doubling back, I made for the twins' room, just a short distance away. Opening the door a fraction, I could see that the two were sleeping. I was just about to close the door when one of them (Edward or Emily, I couldn't tell in the dim light) stirred slightly and propped themselves up on an elbow.

"...Dr. Watson...?" came a mumbled question, as they rubbed at their eyes.

"Yes, I'm sorry to wake you," I whispered. "I just thought I saw something and wanted to check. Does Tobias frequently leave his room at night?"

"No," Emily (for now I could see it was her for the collar of her dressing gown) answered, sleepiness beginning to fade at the question. "Is he not there?"

"No, he's not. Perhaps he's had a nightmare?"

"Toby doesn't often have nightmares, but I—_Dr. Watson_!"

Her response had gone in a split second from a calm tone to a horrified shriek. I had only enough time to register the fact that she screamed once more after calling my name as suddenly I found myself on the floor with a searing pain burning in the back of my skull. As consciousness was slowly dragged away from me, I could distantly perceive a great deal of moving and what sounded like a window being broken followed by the shrill call of a police whistle.

"Watson! _WATSON_!"

It sounded like Holmes, but I was too disoriented to distinguish. Blackness invaded and, for the time, I knew nothing more.

* * *

**I know. I'm a meanie to poor Watson. Well, do tell me what you thought and feel free to correct any mistakes I've made; I'm sure there must be a few. Hope to see you soon! :D  
**


	4. Chapter IV: The Life of a Child

Oh my goodness.

I'm terribly sorry for my... hum, well, I suppose you might call my updates "sporadic" at best. I've just been so frightfully busy that I've barely had any time to write. You know, it's really quite funny, I always assumed summer break was for _resting_. Silly me! Well, one good thing is that I've started work and my college courses have been figured out. And I saw _The Dark Knight_! It was just amazing. Seeing Heath Ledger (rest his soul) as the Joker gave me a fantastic idea for a new Holmes story. Hopefully I'll get to it when I finish this.

I'm working steadily towards the end of this... I tend to make my stories short with longer chapters. I have no idea why. But thank you very much for all your reviews! I really find them helpful.

Oh, and one last word! A nice big shout-out to **_chuxter_** for picking up her writing again after some poor sport hacked her account. Glad to have you with us! :D

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Inspector Lestrade, or any other characters that you see in Holmes Stories. Though, they would be fun to have a tea party with...

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**Chapter IV:** The Life of a Child

At first, I could only hear. Even at that, any sounds that fell across my ears were echoed and unclear; voices, frantic and hurried, movements just as so. Eventually, the blackness began to clear from my vision and a persistent throbbing in the back of my skull announced itself. The small, pale face of Emily Mayhew hovered over me anxiously through the dim light provided by a nearby gas lamp. At once I tried to sit up, but even the light movement of lifting my head sent the room tilting, and so I allowed the young woman's gentle touch to keep me where I was.

"You mustn't try to move yet, Dr. Watson," she instructed.

"...what's happened?" I mumbled.

"You've taken a nasty hit upside the head. I shouldn't be surprised if you have a concussion, though... I haven't been able to give you a proper examination with all the commotion. You see, someone... someone's taken Toby," she answered, unable to keep her voice from breaking slightly. "Eddy and Mr. Holmes ran after him, and the constables, too... but they haven't come back yet. Constable Granby was wounded, so Sammy is seeing to him and father... Oh, my poor father's had a nervous fit!"

I felt the need to comfort the poor creature as she hiccuped in an attempt to keep her sobs in check, but both my present condition and the knowledge of the fierce Celtic pride that ran through her veins, courtesy of her mother, kept me respectfully quiet. After a moment, she drew a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, still sniffling lightly.

"Mr. Holmes was so worried," Emily informed me. "You were so very still at first that we couldn't be sure..."

"I feel as though I could have been," I said, the pounding becoming more bothersome by the minute.

"Oh! Of course!" she said suddenly, rising. "I meant to get you something for the pain. Wait just a moment."

She seemed better with something to distract her, for she moved with a sort of energy that was not dissimilar to Holmes when he was hot upon a lead. As I waited for her to return, I began to wonder what had happened while I had been unconscious. Who had hit me? Who had taken young Toby? Why? Was this connected to the murders in London? If so, then how? The hundreds of questions that began racing through my mind only made my head ache all the more, and so I sought to try and quell them.

It was then that I began to wonder... Holmes? Worried? True, I had lodged with the man for quite some time now, but it did not appear to me that Holmes's brilliant mind had time to bother with such trifling things as worry for his fellow man. Well, he was not heartless, but he could certainly be more than a little cold at times.

I didn't have long to contemplate the matter, for my impromptu nurse-maid returned with a glass of water. I felt a twinge of color flush to my cheeks as she had to help me to lift my head even so far as to drink from a glass. I detected the bitterness of the powder usually used for headaches, but there was a slightly sweet aftertaste.

"It's chamomile and lemon balm with a bit of sugar," Emily clarified, setting herself on a chair beside the bed—for a I had suddenly gathered that I was in a bed—in which I lay. "Father's powders are always so bitter, I just figured you were in enough pain without that foul taste."

"Thank-you. It was very thoughtful," I responded with a weary sigh. "I'm terribly sorry for the additional trouble I've caused."

"Please, you mustn't say that," Emily insisted. "Why, if you hadn't come along, perhaps we wouldn't have noticed Toby's absence until morning, when it would be much too late. If anything, we should be thanking you."

I was just about to respond when there was a great commotion from elsewhere within the house; dogs began barking and a door was opened, letting in the sounds of the storm that raged outside. Footsteps came thundering up the stairs and down the corridor to the room in which we sat. Breathless, pale, and soaked to the skin, Sherlock Holmes threw the door open and quickly surveyed the room. His keen grey eyes locked with mine and, for a moment, I imagined that I saw them soften slightly. He crossed the room with his usual grace just as Emily bounded from her post to throw her arms around her twin who had appeared in the doorway as well, looking every bit as terrible as Holmes.

The worlds foremost consulting detective occupied the seat which she had vacated, water dripping from his long, thin nose. I made yet another attempt to sit up, but Holmes quickly placed a hand on my shoulder, silently urging me not to.

"You've had a terrible time of things, Watson," he told me. He sat there for a moment, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "...how are you feeling?"

I admit, the question surprised me. "Well, I have the absolute worst headache that I've had in quite a while, but otherwise quite all right. Any luck?"

And yet even as I asked the question, I wondered why I had done so, for the answer was written quite clearly on his face. His almost shy, concerned nature became immediately dark and disappointed.

"No. We pursued him as best we could, both on horseback and on foot," Holmes replied darkly. "But I shall be damned if he wasn't a quick one! Yet, in this our suspect has both confirmed one of my suspicions and trumped another. I made a very grave error to-night. For that, I feel I must... apologize. If I hadn't been so careless you might have escaped that dreadful injury."

"Not at all, Holmes," I countered as earnestly as I could. "It is only human to make mistakes and if I know you, you'll only work all the harder because of it."

He seemed momentarily appeased by my words, though he pulled quite a face as a towel suddenly came down upon him and Emily got to work on rubbing him dry. Edward shook his head and exited the room; most likely to dry off himself.

"...Miss Mayhew, please!" he growled, his long arms flailing.

"Mr. Holmes you all shall be the death of me!" she wailed. "Toby is gone, Dr. Watson and Constable Granby have both been injured, father has all but collapsed, and you and Eddy saw fit to run off into the night! You will excuse me if I am a little distraught!"

Leaving the towel with him, she seated herself huffily at the foot of my bed with a sudden look of resignation. It was as though all her energy had been resting on their coming back with her younger sibling and, when they hadn't, it had only caused her further worry. Rather than allow the staff to see to things, she hurried about the old family home on her own busy agenda and now it had caught up with her.

"I'm sorry. Is there anything that I may do?" she asked, brilliant blue eyes peeking searchingly from beneath a curtain of fire red hair.

Holmes let out a sigh, lifting the towel so that he could see us once more. "If you truly wish to help, you would do well to keep charge over those injured or otherwise incapacitated."

"Nothing else?" Emily probed.

"That will be quite enough. That and, since my Boswell may be off his feet for a time, I may need to borrow your brother," he added.

She nodded slowly. "Well, all right," she said, standing and moving towards the door. She paused there, fiddling with a ribbon on her nightgown. "Mr. Holmes... Eddy and I have been talking and... well, I... that man was never after father, was he?"

I turned my head quickly towards Holmes, though it was a mistake because spots flooded my vision. My companion, on his part, had folded his arms across his chest, one thin finger pressed against his lips. He seemed to be considering something very deeply.

"It can be dangerous when children become too inquisitive, Miss Mayhew," he stated.

"Then I suppose it is rather fortunate that I am not a child, Mr. Holmes," she countered with a somber look. "I shall only be a moment, Dr. Watson. Is there anything you need?"

"Not at the moment, thank-you," I answered.

And with that, she closed the door quietly and left us. I offered Holmes a perplexed look which, at first, he sought to ignore. After a time of my pointed staring, however, he could no longer with-hold whatever information he'd been pondering over.

"Holmes, what's this about?" I pressed. "What did she mean?"

"Those twins are truly sharper than I gave them credit," he mused. "You see, some time after arriving here, I _did_ determine that Dr. Mayhew was not our target after all. It was one of his children."

I gawked. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier? Or the constables for that matter! We could have had Inspector Lestrade down here to help."

My friend shook his head. "No, we needed to keep up appearances. If our man suspected that any of us had caught on, we would have never caught him. I had come to the conclusion that Samuel would be the target; he is young, bright, and talented. It had seemed to me that he would be the perfect target. What better way to exact revenge than by killing off your enemy's first born? No, no, no... I have worked from the wrong angle. But I see my error, Watson, I see it very clearly and I mean to correct it."

"Holmes, this is a very serious matter. This is not just any other case. This is a _child's life_ we are talking about," I reminded him.

"Our man will not harm him, if I have he is just how I have concluded."

"Suppose he isn't?"

"_He is._"

"Even if he does not harm him intentionally, the child was not in good health to begin with. With this weather and the added stress of being abducted from his home in the night and facing possible death, there is no telling what may go wrong," I said, wincing slightly. My eagerness to resume my activities was doing nothing to help my injury.

"I know that, Watson. Which is all the more reason for Lestrade to hurry over. We will need many hands if we are to take him down quickly without harming the child," my friend answered.

Silence lapsed between us, or rather, as much silence as could be afforded from the commotion going on elsewhere throughout the house. There was not enough time for any discomfort during the silence, for Samuel Mayhew appeared at the door with the twins at his heels. His shirt cuffs were rolled up past the elbow with a fair bit of blood spattered on the front of his shirt.

"Dr. Watson, you're awake, I see," he stated, crossing the room to my bedside. "I apologize. I should have come to see you sooner, but I was preoccupied with Constable Granby."

"You had no trouble in removing the arrow, then?" Holmes questioned.

"No, sir, none at all. He should be back on active duty within a week so long as he takes things slow for now," Samuel answered. "Edward tells me you had no luck in catching the blackguard who made off with Tobias?"

"None. I fear there is nothing more that we may do for your brother to-night. However, to say we came back completely empty handed would be a grave mistake," my friend said, reaching within his damp coat. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and with it, a frayed and faded strip of blue ribbon.

"Mr. Holmes? What is that?" Emily questioned, holding Edward's hand as they stood in the doorway.

"Something our friend dropped in his haste to get away," Holmes answered.

"And you believe it has some sort of importance?" Edward asked, fiery red hair plastered to his face from the rain.

"Immense importance. In fact, I believe he will return for it," Holmes said. "Which is why to-morrow, we will make a show of moving the entire family, the staff, and the constables from this house. Then I will wait in hiding for him to return and either catch him then and there, if it is convenient, or shadow him until we find where he is hidden."

"Mr. Holmes how can you be so certain that he will return?" Samuel pressed, gaze trained on his pocket watch as he checked my pulse.

"I'm afraid I cannot reveal all at this point, but I _can_ say that this small strip of ribbon is part of what has fueled our man to commit these heinous crimes," Holmes said, rubbing the ribbon between his index and fore-finger.

"I suppose it is pointless to question you further on the matter, then?" Samuel offered.

"At this point, yes. But I promise you young Tobias will be returned to you safely," Holmes told him confidently.

"If you can do that much then we would be immensely grateful," Samuel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair as he finished inspecting the lump on the back of my head. "Well, the good news is that you don't appear to be too bad off, Dr. Watson. Your reactions to light and other stimuli are normal, if a little delayed, which is to be expected. You'll be dazed for a bit, but I suspect a good day or two off your feet should see you back to normal. In the mean time, I'll be checking in on you at regular intervals and Emily will be here if you need anything."

He rose slowly, a look on his face that spoke clearly of mental and physical exhaustion. His already pale complexion seemed even paler, his previously lively emerald eyes taking on a distracted, almost haunted appearance. With a swift, if somewhat forced, smile, he excused himself from the room. The twins seated themselves on a small sofa across the room, their fingers once more intertwined. It was somewhat touching to see how close the family was, and yet it only filled me with a sense of urgency to see them at ease once again. And at once my mind lapsed into that flurry of questions I had sought to stave away like a swarm of so many bees.

"Watson."

Holmes's voice cut through the swarm; scattered it in hundreds of directions. I glanced his way.

"You really will do yourself no good over thinking things," he said. "There's nothing more that can be done today; we've established that. Try to get some sleep, old fellow."

"But Holmes—"

"Watson, please. You understand even better than I do that any sort of blow to the head requires a significant amount of rest to recover from," Holmes insisted.

"But I feel so very useless," I countered.

"Dr. Watson, you're nothing of the sort. Haven't I already explained that?" Emily Mayhew put in, making her way over with another glass. "And you know Mr. Holmes is quite right. We shall all be happier once Toby is home and you are back on your feet. So, I've whipped up a sleeping tonic that will have you to sleep in no time at all."

I glanced behind her, towards Holmes. The detective nodded once, which was all I needed. And I do admit that it began to kick in almost immediately.

* * *

When I next awoke, the sun had risen and was already setting to work on clearing the mess left by the storm the previous night. I was alone in the room, and so I hesitantly sat up. Much to my relief, the room did not see fit to spin before my eyes as it had done when I previously ventured to maintain a vertical position. The spot on the back of my head was sore to the touch and quite tender besides, but this was a welcome change to the searing pain I'd encountered prior to sleeping. Allowing myself time to gain my balance once I had stood, I peered out the window.

There was quite a good deal going on outside already. I could see that reinforcements had arrived and proceeded to swarm the family home. Samuel and Edward Mayhew were outside, speaking to one of the constables, no doubt about the unhappy event that had transpired in the night. A light knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Yes?"

The door opened a tad and Emily shifted through the doorway. "Oh... I see you are up and about."

"Thankfully, yes," I answered with a smile.

"Well, I'm very glad," she said, seating herself lightly on the bed's edge. "No doubt Mr. Holmes and Inspector Lestrade will be as well."

"You seem troubled," I noted, taking a sat next to her.

She offered me a flat stare.

"Troubled besides the obvious," I corrected.

She shrugged, lacing her thin fingers together. "Oh, it's nothing really. I just suppose that you aren't the only one feeling useless."

"You've been a great help from what I've seen," I said earnestly.

"You flatter me, Dr. Watson," she responded, smiling in a most charming manner. "But in truth I may have ruined things. I didn't lift a finger to stop the man who took Toby and injured you, despite the fact that he was right before me. Though I did get a look at his face."

"There, that's something. Did you tell Holmes and Inspector Lestrade?" I asked.

"Yes..." she answered.

And it was in the _manner_ that she answered, the delayed, drawn-out pronunciation, and her wandering eyes that alerted me to the fact that she was hiding something. Hiding something that she couldn't stand to keep hidden.

"Then what is it that bothers you so?" I queried, studying her mannerisms as best I could.

"Do not assume that I have any sympathy for a man who would murder three men and kidnap an ill child, Doctor," Emily began, her chin held aloft in a most proud manner. "However, when I saw that man last night, just for the briefest instant as the lightning flashed, mind you, he seemed so very... Well, he seemed so very sad."

"Sad, you say?"

"Yes. I knew it would be useless to try and explain to Mr. Holmes... but I thought you might understand. The man just had this sort of _look_. You must know what I mean. When you look into another's eyes and you can feel the depth of their grief, almost as though it were your own. His face seemed so furious; wild even, but his eyes... I was rather stunned."

"I imagine you would be. You didn't tell Holmes of this then," I said.

"No. Should I have?"

"I think it should be something worth mentioning. But you've done no harm in keeping it to yourself thus far," I assured her, rising. "Now, shall we head down and see what we can do to help?"

"Of course. I know we must seem frightfully morose, but if we can just distract ourselves with some task, well, we'll bounce right back to normal!" she said, seeming somehow suddenly energized. Though, she paused at the door, nibbling at her thumb tip as her eyes danced about the room, unable to meet my own. She continued in a halted fashion, as though the words she spoke next were unfamiliar to her tongue. "And, ah... Thank-you. For listening to me."

"It is not a problem at all," I answered.

Together we made our way down a flight of stairs towards where Holmes and Inspector Lestrade poured over what appeared to be a map spread across a table. Lestrade looked up as we approached, a look of slight surprise on his ferret-like features.

"Dr. Watson, I hadn't expected you to be up and about already," he stated.

Holmes glanced up.

"He's recovering remarkably well," Emily assured them. "What is that you're working on now?"

"Map of the grounds?" I ventured.

Lestrade nodded sagely. "Indeed. We were just going over the layout of the building and the grounds nearby so-as to set our trap."

"I see," I said, peering over my friend's shoulder. "Well, you'll have to leave our bait some distance from the home itself, no doubt. Otherwise he'll know we're waiting for him."

"Yes, that is what I had decided," Holmes stated. "I found it caught in this laurel bush approximately thirty paces northward of the pond. Leaving it anywhere else would be, as you have already said, Watson, a horrendous mistake."

"No doubt you're searching for the one place that will allow you to be rule of the roost," Edward Mayhew chimed in as he breezed into the parlor and quickly whisked a bottle of brandy and some glasses from the cupboard. "Brandy, gentleman? No? Well, just me then."

He poured a healthy dose into his glass and downed nearly all of it in one shot. It was interesting how the mischievous twins now seemed nothing like the little imps that had delighted in torturing us with their head games at dinner the previous night. Perhaps more sad than interesting.

"You'll want Emmy and I for that, then," Edward said, the corners of his lips curling in a determined smirk.

"There is really no part of this area that we haven't thoroughly... _investigated_," Emily assured us, mirroring her brother's expression.

Or perhaps I had spoken too soon. Was this the sort of distraction she had hinted to earlier?

"Well, then where would you suggest?" Holmes inquired, sweeping a hand over the length of the map.

"That all depends upon how many sentries you're planning on posting besides you and myself," Edward countered.

I saw Holmes's face screw up in an almost childish picture of indecision. One of the man's greatest vices was his need to keep all elements regarding the solutions of his cases to himself until the absolute last minute. However, in this situation, he could not very well hope to do so while still achieving the desired results. So it was quite an obvious struggle between his ego and whatever form of sympathy he may have had tucked away.

"_Primarily_ I should like just you and I to confront him," he stated at length. "However, precaution dictates that we should have one or two of our confederates stationed somewhere nearby should he once more slip through our grasp."

I frowned, slightly bothered—and perhaps a little hurt—by the way Holmes had cut me out of his equation. He seemed to read this upon my face and held up a hand before I could so much as draw breath to question him.

"No, Watson. You will remain with the Mayhew Family," he instructed. "It is a dangerous affair and following your injury last night, I am not willing to even consider bringing you along. You would do me a great service in keeping an eye on your old school mate."

I was not pleased with this conclusion, not at all; yet, in the back of my mind I knew it was for the best. I felt quite all right at the moment, but that did not rule out the possibility of the effects of my getting knocked arising to impede the investigation in any way. It was with this notion in mind that I acquiesced to my friend's request.

Not half an hour later, I found myself standing outside a coach with Emily, waiting for Charles Mayhew and his wife so as to get things underway. The heavy rainfall from the night before had given way to a horrendously humid afternoon. The unforgiving August sun bore down upon the rain drenched fields, evaporating traces of the storm so rapidly that the crash of the thunder and the relentless patter of the precipitation seemed a distant memory. On the subject of memories, I could not help but notice the scent that this process produced. The air was heavy with the smell of hot, damp earth. It lingered in such a manner that when one drew that air which was vital for life, one began to feel a as though one were melding with that very earth.

"Dr. Watson? We'll be getting along, now," Emily informed me.

"Oh, yes, of course," I replied, ripped suddenly from my reverie. "I see we are taking two separate coaches."

"Yes. Mother and Sammy shall stay with father, which leaves you and I," she said, already hopping inside.

As I passed the coach which contained my old school mate, I could not help but catch a glance of him. Charles Mayhew had always had questionable health, but he had more than made up for it with strength of character. Yet, with that one glimpse of my old friend, I couldn't help but feel that I was looking at an entirely different person. The overwhelming stress of the situation had finally taken its toll. His deep blue eyes, ordinarily so full of life were now dull, staring lifelessly into space. A pale hand clutched at his chest, his breath coming in a slow, rattling wheeze. I was somewhat comforted by the sight of his wife and eldest son sitting attentively by his side.

As I hopped aboard the second coach, Emily's eyes flickered towards me silently. I stared for a moment and, although I knew it was rude to do so, I found myself unable to draw my gaze away. There was something in her eyes; something that spoke of mischief.

"Is there something wrong, Doctor?" she asked.

"Wrong? No... no, not at all. I apologize," I answered quickly, embarrassed.

"There's no need for apology. Please, sit down," she said as the door closed behind me. "How is your head?"

"Much better than last night," I responded truthfully. I was still a bit uneasy on my feet at times, but compared to my previous pains it was a very small matter.

I heard the whip of the reigns and the coach lurched forward. Leaning slightly to the side, I peered out the window as we began to rattle along the gravel drive. The tall, lean form of my friend Sherlock Holmes grew progressively smaller as we pulled away until at last, making a turn in the road, he disappeared all-together. I settled back in my seat with a disappointed sigh. I knew very well that I would only slow Holmes down, but I still felt uncomfortable leaving his side.

"Mr. Holmes is quite the peculiar man, is he not?" Emily posed suddenly.

I laughed. "My young lady, you couldn't even know the half of it."

"I suspect I couldn't. But you must admit, for one so fond of things being precise and to the point, he sometimes has a very round-about way of saying things," she said.

"Holmes? Well, not usually. Could you perhaps give me an example?" I asked, frowning in confusion.

"Well, just look at your conversation with him earlier. Now, did he exclude you from his plans because he was genuinely concerned? Or was it because he knew you would get in the way and just didn't wish to say so aloud?" she detailed, index finger twisting a lock of fiery red hair. "He is peculiar."

"I can agree with you on some level," I informed her, glancing out the window as the trees blurred into one mass of green and brown. "Holmes is... a very secretive man. He doesn't enjoy having others know what he is thinking; I suppose that's just the way he is. He also has a bit of a flair for the dramatic and his secrecy plays a large role in that."

"Then I should say we are somewhat alike."

"How so?"

"I have a bit of a flair for dramatics and secrecy myself," she said calmly.

I quirked a suspicious eyebrow, to which the young lady responded by stomping her boot on the floor of the coach. Dragging my gaze downward, I daresay my mouth must have fallen open. Outlined quite clearly with a pull-ring attached was a trap door.

"Care for a field trip, Dr. Watson?" she queried, tilting her head to one side with an inquisitive smile.

I laughed heartily. Mischief indeed!

* * *

Hohoho! Dear me, Holmes will not be pleased with those two sneaking about. You never know, though, they just might come in handy. Or they might get in the way. -shrug-


	5. Chapter V: On the Field of Battle

Halloa! Halloa! What's this now? Could it be that I've set a personal record for updating? I found myself with a lot of time on my hands and I spent it writing and plotting. I'm really quite pleased with the result. I always feel better when I do my writing in large chunks. This just happens to be a very large one.

Haha, yes, I've noticed that an awful lot of interesting people flock to Watson. But that's just how I've always pictured it. Watson's such a likable, trustworthy man I always figured that people felt more comfortable around him. Like they can let their guard down.

I've still got a few tricks tucked up my sleeve; hopefully you'll like them. Thanks very much for reading thus-far and for your reviews. Both are highly appreciated!

* * *

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, or Inspector Lestrade. That honor belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

* * *

**Chapter V:** On the Field of Battle

As I run my eyes over the trap door in the bottom of our coach, I shake my head in amazement.

"So you plan to drop down through this trap door and sneak back to your home?" I asked.

Emily nodded once, and it was now that her dressing in a shirt and trousers seemed to make sense: she wished to be able to move about freely. "I don't intend to sit idly by while all this goes on. And you don't seem very happy to, either."

In truth, I wasn't. As Holmes had stated more than once, I was a man of action; sitting still just did not suit me. Still, my friend could be a man of very masterful temperament and going against his wishes would most likely produce a less than desirable outcome.

"Well, we can't very well leave your parents and your brother to themselves," I pointed out.

She frowned. "Hmm, yes, I see what you mean. But if Mr. Holmes is correct, then that man isn't after my father."

"True enough. Still, would you like to risk their safety on Holmes's theory?"

She folded her arms over her chest, flopping back into her seat with a huff. "I thought you didn't want to go back to London!"

I sighed. She was very impatient. "I'm not attempting to stonewall your plan, but I'd not be able to sleep at night if something should happen to them."

The young lady considered this for a moment, biting at the tip of her thumb. I could see it wasn't an easy decision; how could it be? After a moment, she grabbed a hold of the pull-ring and yanked the trap door open. I could see the dirt road passing swiftly beneath us. Grabbing a small pack, she looked to the hole then up to me.

"Well, my family will be surrounded by constables and other inspectors. They'll be safe in London. It will only be Eddy, Mr. Holmes, and Inspector Lestrade waiting for that man," she said. "If you're coming, make sure you tuck and roll. It's a bit bumpy."

Having said that, her small form slipped past the trap door and disappeared. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I contemplated the matter. True, I did wish to make a speedy return to my friend and help if I could, but I was concerned that I would bother his plans. Then again, I would not wish to explain to Mayhew why his daughter was suddenly missing once we arrived in London. He'd most surely return swiftly, which would upset Holmes's plans anyway. Caught between Scylla and Charybdis!

In a somewhat reserved manner, I shifted and dropped from the door. I suspect I must have landed with a tad less grace than my young friend, for the next thing I knew, I was looking up at the sky as she hovered worriedly over me.

"I really wish you would've said you were still unwell," Emily said, her lower lip jutting out in an offended pout.

I blinked slowly. "I thought I was quite all right."

"Well, you obviously aren't. You made it out fine and well, but the moment you attempted to stand up you lost consciousness. Follow my finger with your eyes, would you?"

I did so, but was not very pleased with the situation. This was twice now that I had found myself in the care of someone who was not yet even twenty years of age. At last she relented, pleased enough with my condition, she remarked, and sat back in the middle of the dirt road, spinning a dandelion in her fingers.

"Shouldn't we proceed?" I pressed.

She looked up quickly. "After that?"

"I merely stood up too quickly," I assured her, sitting up slowly, so as to be at eye-level. "It takes quite a great deal more to keep me out of action."

"I see," she mumbled. "Well, I've had Geoffrey Brunsworth sneak Killarney down the road a ways so we won't have to walk all the way back to the house."

"And who exactly is Killarney?" I asked.

"A horse, of course," she replied, standing and brushing off her trousers.

As I stood, spots entered my vision for a moment accompanied by a sudden pain in the back of my head, and I felt a small, steadying hand and my arm. Almost as soon as it had come, my weak spell retreated. The act of sitting or standing seemed to have a great effect on my equilibrium. Making sure that I was all right (I was), Emily jogged up the road a ways before all but springing into a row of nearby hedges. I had begun to wonder if she'd injured herself when a large, chestnut coated horse emerged and trotted out and down the road; bearing the young lady upon its back.

"Are you ready to head back?" she asked, reaching a hand down.

"Surely you don't intend us both to ride on the animal," I stated incredulously.

"Why wouldn't we?"

I coughed politely. "Well, it's just not entirely prudent for a man and a young lady such as yourself to be at such close quarters."

She blinked those great blue eyes of hers, tilting her head in a most perplexed manner. "We're just riding back to my home. Here, if it makes you more comfortable, you take the reigns up here and we'll sit back to back."

As much as I protested, she countered with every ounce of Celtic fire in her body. So it was that we trotted slowly towards the Mayhew home with her back pressed against mine as she straddled the horse backwards. She didn't seem the least bit put out by this but instead slapped the rump of the horse lovingly.

"Have you and Mr. Holmes shared rooms for very long?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm? Oh, for around two years now, I suppose," I answered.

It really hadn't seemed that long since Stamford had introduced us.

"And where were you before that?"

"Well, I had been serving in Afghanistan as a military surgeon," I answered truthfully.

"It must have been terribly frightening. I know that I could not stand to do something so very dreadful," she intoned thoughtfully.

"Yes. Sometimes it was very frightening..." I said, beating back some of those awful memories. They had no place in the present. "But there are times when one must do very dangerous things to protect things one cares about."

"That's no good at all," she hummed.

"What?" I ejaculated.

"Look there."

As we had come closer to the family home, our presence had not gone unnoticed. I felt my stomach drop as I spied the lean form of my friend racing across the lawn towards us.

* * *

"Explain yourself, Watson!" Sherlock Holmes thundered, grabbing hold of the horse's reigns.

"Holmes, please understand—"

"He followed me. I planned to return by myself and since he couldn't persuade me to go to London, being the gentleman that he is, Dr. Watson was kind enough to escort me," Emily interjected, swinging her legs over the side of the horse and dropping down, I doing much the same. Thankfully, no sudden attack of dizziness bothered me.

"Do not do me the disservice of lying to my face, Miss Mayhew," Holmes said tersely, his eyes narrowed.

"Very well, Mr. Holmes," Emily replied, petting the horse fondly. "However, I know you must have suspected we would be back."

"Obviously I was correct," my friend snorted.

"We only wished to help, old fellow," I told him in a placating manner. "You didn't expect us to just hurry off to London and leave you in the company of so dangerous a criminal."

This notion seemed to calm him, if only for a moment. "You'll turn back for London immediately. The both of you."

"No," Emily said quite simply, in a manner that surprised both myself and my companion.

"Miss Mayhew you are treading on dangerously thin ice," Holmes reminded her.

"You really can't force us to leave," she replied.

"No, perhaps not. But neither can you force me to stay," my friend announced triumphantly.

Upon realizing the meaning behind his words, the Irish gamine's freckled cheeks flushed a shade of red to rival her hair. Jaw set and leering at my companion, she considered his words.

"We all three know you would not stoop to such a tactic. However, if you are willing to allow us to remain, I am willing to keep entirely out of your way," Emily offered with somewhat forced civility. "Dr. Watson is unwilling to leave you to that man. I am unwilling to leave my brother."

Holmes seemed to be struggling to keep himself from shouting.

"...very well. On the condition that you and Watson both swear to keep yourselves well out of danger. Am I understood?" Holmes proposed, looking to each of us.

The young lady nodded immediately, but I was a bit more hesitant to do so. After all, the reason I'd returned was to be a part of the action; not to sit by as a casual observer. However, knowing Holmes, I knew it was best to cut my losses and accept his terms. I nodded my acquiescence and we set off for the home. It was in a rather thick atmosphere that we did so, for both the young lady and the world's foremost consulting detective had lapsed into a brooding silence that I dared not intrude upon.

Strangely, I thought I had caught Holmes glancing at me curiously every so often. Even stranger, amidst his obvious vexation over our choice to return, I could swear I detected a hint of gratification in his sharp grey eyes. Almost as though a part of him was _glad_ that I had returned. I suppose, based on both Stamford's account of the man and my own experiences, that he was rather used to having people desert him. Perhaps for once it was a refreshing change of pace to find that someone wanted to come back.

"What's this then, Mr. Holmes? I thought Dr. Watson and the young miss were headed to London with the others," Lestrade greeted my companion as we approached the front door.

"You weren't the only one, Lestrade," Holmes grumbled.

"Where's Edward?" Emily asked, looking about.

Lestrade merely pointed up. Following his direction, we were greeted by the sight of the young lad perched atop the building. He shouted something down to us, but we were unable to make it out. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest as I saw him swing from the roof's ledge and begin to scale down the building. It was only a mere minute or so before he was standing before us, wiping sweat from this forehead with the back of his hand.

"What's going on? You're supposed to be in London!" he ejaculated.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Edward. Did you _honestly_ expect me to go quietly?" Emily countered.

"Excuse us a moment, gentlemen," Edward said, taking his twin gently by the elbow and leading her away for a talk.

"Despite my very clear orders, Dr. Watson and Miss Mayhew saw fit to return," Holmes explained to Lestrade. "Seeing as it was a very bothersome thing trying to get them to leave, I've allowed them to remain on the condition that they are tucked away safely within the house while our plans are underway."

"I see," Lestrade said simply. "You know, I always said the man who chose to share rooms with Sherlock Holmes had to be out of his mind. Most men run _away_ from him, Dr. Watson, not _to_ him."

"Well, with the amount of danger involved, I couldn't very well stay away," I answered honestly. It wasn't though I enjoyed being in dangerous situations, but I enjoyed leaving a friend to one even less.

Lestrade just smiled and shook his head, much the way a parent would when speaking to a child about something that was beyond their comprehension. He looked to my companion instead.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I'm still very wary of your theory," Lestrade announced gravely. "I certainly think our time would be better spent looking for the man."

Holmes waved a hand impatiently. "That's where you're wrong. We must think of our man as an animal. If you go after him, you'll only succeed in chasing him further away. However, produce the proper bait and wait patiently, and you'll find he'll come right to you."

"But how can you be sure your 'bait' will be sufficient?" Lestrade probed.

"Look here," Holmes said, producing the ribbon from his coat pocket. The Inspector and I craned forward to get a better look as he stretched it before us. "You'll see that here, here, and here, both the color and the fabric are far more worn than the rest of the sample."

"Yes, but what good does that do us?" Lestrade countered.

"Watson, would you be so good as to place your thumb over one of these worn spots?" Holmes asked, a smirk twitching at his lips.

I did so. "Why, it's very nearly a perfect match."

"Exactly. Our man would frequently take this piece of ribbon and caress it with his thumb, no doubt for the memories he attached to it," Holmes explained. "We can therefore deduce that it belonged to someone close to him; not a wife, for this more the sort a very young girl would tie in her hair. It's quite old, so perhaps a sister or a childhood companion. I cannot be certain until all the facts have been produced."

I silently marveled at my friend's amazing faculties for observation. Of course, I had seen him in action before, but it was as though each time I were watching him for the first time, for every case I found myself involved in had something singular about it.

Lestrade pulled a face. "Well, I'm not pleased with the thought of mucking about this place all day, but you do present a convincing case."

"Your patience will be rewarded, I can promise you," Holmes assured him. "In the meanwhile, we shall have to ready the trap."

"Very well. I suppose we can finish our survey of the land now," Lestrade decided.

It was just as he said this that I turned to look at the twins some distance away. They seemed to be discussing something rather heatedly, but toned things down as they caught me looking. In a few moments they'd wrapped up their conversation and made their way back over, looking somewhat sullen.

"I'm to understand that my sister is staying," Edward said, looking to Holmes.

"Has she explained the conditions of our agreement?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, but I hardly see how that matters!" the lad retaliated hotly.

"And I hardly see how you can be cross with me when you could not persuade her to leave either," Holmes countered calmly.

Edward's thin red brows drew together in a frown. "Yes. Yes, I see what you mean. I apologize for my rudeness, Mr. Holmes. Only understand that this worries me very greatly."

"I understand all too well," Holmes said, glancing sidelong towards me.

"Seeing as my presence so infuriates you lot ever so much, I'll just go about and do womanly things like preparing tea and sandwiches," Emily proclaimed, throwing her hands up and making her way within the home.

"Irish," Lestrade said knowingly.

"Oh, but that's what makes us so entertaining, Inspector," Edward offered with a smirk. "I've sent a wire to London. So we shan't be disturbed."

* * *

"So, as you can see, if you really want to get the lay of the land, up by the weather vane is really the ideal spot," Edward explained.

"Hum! Very well, then. Mr. Mayhew, in light of your acrobatic finesse I would suggest you as our look-out," Holmes noted. "However.. I will ask that you wear something over your head."

"It's not that cold out," Lestrade intoned.

"No, but that bright red hair is quite easily spotted," I added.

"Right, of course. Well, he's the smallest of us so he should be able to conceal himself well enough," Lestrade said.

"You can count on me," Edward announced. "If anyone comes towards this house, I'll be able to see them and give you ample warning."

"Yes, as far as warnings go, I would suggest owl calls. Hoot twice if you see him coming, Lestrade and I will hoot once in reply once we have spotted him as well," Holmes said.

"And where will you be situated?" Edward asked.

"Lestrade will take up watch in that thicket of bushes there, next to the large oak tree. I will be one hundred yards away hidden in the branches of the taller oak," Holmes instructed.

"But Holmes, that puts you almost on top of your bait," I pointed out.

"That should make the capture all the easier," Holmes announced with something of a smile.

"Holmes," I said warningly.

"Watson, it will all work out splendidly," he said, and then added as an afterthought; "You've nothing to worry about."

"Well, I perceive Emily flagging us down, so why don't we join her in the garden for some refreshment and then take a practice run?" Edward suggested.

"Yes to the former, no to the latter," Holmes corrected.

"Why ever not?" Lestrade questioned, raising a perplexed eyebrow.

"We cannot afford to be seen preparing for this event. Our first time should also be our last," Holmes informed them.

"Surely you don't think the criminal could be prowling the grounds this very moment?" Lestrade asked.

"I do not, but it is better not left to chance," Holmes said with an air of finality.

It was on that note that the four of us crossed the expansive lawn and sat at the table situated within the garden; concealed on all sides by white rose bushes. It was quite obvious that Emily was no great culinary expert, but her modest attempt was most appreciated. Where the sandwiches lacked, her tea more than strongly made up for it. Holmes, as was usual for him during a case, took not even a bite to eat but sipped sparingly at his tea.

"Hmm, I probably should have made the sandwiches..." Edward noted.

"You're welcome brother," Emily said over the rim of her tea cup.

"Well... the tea is something worth mentioning," Lestrade said awkwardly.

"Mr. Holmes doesn't seem to think so," she noted, tracing the rim of her cup with her forefinger.

"I can't spare the energy for digestion during a case. It has nothing to do with your culinary abilities, limited though they may be," Holmes answered, swatting at a bug on his neck.

The young lady rolled her eyes, while her twin brother sat snickering into his tea. They weren't acquainted with all of his strange habits, so of course something like this would draw question. We sat about discussing our plans for some time before moving inside as the sun began to drop. Wanting to keep up the appearance that no one was at home, we lit no lamps save for one, which we kept turned down half-way. As the large grandfather clock in the corner of the sitting room tolled out nine o'clock, our three players rose from their places.

"You two shall wait in here. Do not move until we have apprehended our man or otherwise call for you," Holmes instructed Emily and I in a hushed tone. He looked to Lestrade and Edward. "Gentlemen, let us take our positions."

Lestrade and Edward nodded silently, filing out of the room. Holmes followed after, though paused as he reached the doorway. He leaned heavily on the frame for a moment and appeared to be in deep thought. Straightening, he looked back to us, nodded with a confident grin, and made his way out of the home. Emily waved me over to the sofa, where we could watch out one of the windows. As I watched the lean of Sherlock Holmes recede into the night, I couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong.

It wouldn't be until three hours later that I found my feelings had foundation.

* * *

Just what does that mean for our little group? Well, you'll find out with my next update. I'm terribly sorry for the cliff-hanger, but you'll appreciate the outcome... at least I think so. Thank-you very much for reading!


	6. Chapter VI: Casualties of War

Hello again! Hrrm, I've got a whopper of a headache at the moment, so you'll excuse me if I make this short. First off, I apologize for the time that's passed since my last update my poor laptop needed to be serviced and I was without his company for some time. :

If this chapter seems a bit strange or poorly written, I apologize in advance. I had a bit of difficulty in writing this one and I'm considering re-writing it (or parts of it). I try not to let any external stimuli effect my writing, but I'm afraid I may have. This makes me very unhappy.

Well, I'm content with it for now, but I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be tired of it. Thank you so much for your reviews once again! They're a pleasure to read; they really do bring a smile to my face! :D

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own anything or anyone you recognize. Although it would be fun to hug all of them... or air-hug in Holmes's case. Bear hug for Watson and Lestrade!

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**Chapter VI:** Casualties of War

I waited as patiently as possible given the situation, my eyes struggling to see through the dark shroud of night that had fallen over us. When keeping watch with Holmes on previous occasions, the areas we usually chose to hide in were, shall we say, not terribly well furnished. This was a sharp contrast to where I sat at the window now; the comfort offered by the plush sofa was making it difficult to remain awake.

Emily had drifted off some quarter of an hour prior, head resting on the back of the sofa. It was no wonder, for her entire family had most likely been deprived of sleep the previous night. I wondered then, how her brother Edward fared above us on the rooftop. These thoughts only brought me back to the well-being of Holmes and Lestrade. I was discomforted by the fact that I was so far from them with such a limited field of view.

The moon, full though it was, remained primarily obscured by clouds and therefore offered little in the way of light. The wind had begun to pick up, rattling the window panes as though desperate to gain entry, but thankfully there was no further rain to speak of. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room began to sound out the time; the sound of the old bell was somehow foreboding. I counted the chimes.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five...

Ah, midnight, then. I shifted slightly, uncomfortable in the eerie silence left after the grandfather clock had quieted itself once more. My young female companion sighed and shifted, mumbling something, but remaining in the realm of Morpheus. Minutes dragged slowly onward, leaving me anxious and eager to see things proceed. It wasn't long before I got my wish.

It was faint due to the fact that he was out of doors and some distance away, but I was sure when I heard it; Edward had hooted twice. My eyes frantically combed through what little I could see, goose pimples raising on my flesh at the thought that our man had arrived. Shortly after, I heard one more hoot, and another that sounded somewhat delayed.

Leaning forward and straining until I was sure my eyes might pop from their sockets, I just barely managed a glimpse of a man. Or what I assumed was a man. Although taller and more muscular in frame than Holmes, he moved with such animalistic fleetness of foot that for a moment I questioned whether or not my eyes were playing tricks on me. I held my breath as he approached the bait, subconsciously reaching over to gentle stir Emily.

The red-headed young woman woke with a start, rubbing blearily at her eyes. "Dr. Watson... what's going on? What time is—"

"Look, look!" I whispered urgently. "Our man has finally shown himself."

She squinted, leaning forward, only to pull back abruptly, eyes gone wide. We sat in an almost unendurable silence, wondering when the trap would be sprung. I could see that the man was approaching our bait. Just as he reached for it, I detected some slight movement in the oak above. The criminal looked up, but too late, for Holmes had leaped from his perch and onto the man. Te two struggled on the ground for a moment before staggering to their feet. The criminal was poised on his haunches, looking something akin to a fierce tiger while Holmes stood erect, swaying on his feet.

Something was wrong.

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than did I watch with horror as my companion's knees buckled and he fell flat upon his face without the criminal so much as laying a hand upon him. I held my breath, waiting for some movement, but he did not stir. Panic suddenly gripped my heart.

"Holmes!" I hollered involuntarily.

Without a thought to how it might ruin his plans or what would happen because of it, I ran from the home towards Holmes's side, Emily hot upon my heels. Lestade's infuriated shouts assaulted my ears as I sprinted across the lawn; I could see the Inspector chasing after the feral man. At the moment, however, I had only one concern.

"Holmes!" I shouted again, dropping to my friend's side.

Emily assisted in gently flipping him onto his back, and I noted anxiously how terribly limp his limbs were. Though unconscious, Holmes's dark brows were drawn together in a pained expression and a thin layer of cold sweat shined upon his forehead. Bringing my fore and middle finger to his throat, I checked his pulse. It was quick and erratic, his chest rising and falling in much the same manner as he struggled for breath.

"What's wrong with him, Dr. Watson?" Emily asked, her wide eyes showing concern as she peered at me through the darkness.

"I... I'm not sure," I answered. "There is no sign of physical injury, and they weren't engaged but for a moment. I suppose it—"

I paused, a thought coming to mind. Something Holmes had said. He was sure the mutilation of both doctors in London had occurred post mortem. The real cause of death was...

"Poison," I gasped.

"What?!" Emily ejaculated.

"He's been poisoned, I'm sure of it," I replied, placing a hand to my friend's forehead. He felt too warm for my liking.

As I began to formulate some idea as to how to help him, I became aware of the sound of horse's hooves galloping towards us. I looked up just as Edward pulled Killarney to a halt. His chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath, and he reached a hand down.

"Dr. Watson, we may still catch him yet. Are you coming?" he asked of me.

I was torn. In his present condition, I did not feel safe leaving Holmes even for a moment, and yet the urge to give our criminal a good throttling was almost overwhelming.

"I'll watch him," Emily piped up.

I looked to her with uncertainty. She glared.

"If you don't go now, he'll get away!" she fumed. "Mr. Holmes would be furious if he knew you had given up for his sake, wouldn't he?"

"Dr. Watson, I'm going — with or without you. Which is it?" Edward asked urgently.

I ground my teeth. I had no way of telling what Holmes had been poisoned with. As much as I hated to leave him, we had a better chance of producing an antidote if we were to hear what he'd been poisoned with straight from the criminal's mouth. Reaching once to reaffirm that my old service revolver was in the pocket of my coat, I rose to my feet, accepting the young man's hand and pulling myself onto the back of the horse.

"Edward!" Emily shouted. He looked to her with surprise, and I saw her face sadden and heard her words soften. "Please. Be careful. Both of you."

Edward nodded and whipped up the reigns of the horse, sending us off with a sudden lurch forward. I kept a firm grip on the young man's shoulders, peering ahead even as we rapidly closed in on our target. Very quickly we had managed to catch up to Lestrade, who hollered something as we passed. My heartbeat quickened as we came within mere yards of our prey, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of triumph at the sight ahead.

Recent heavy rainfall had created a large and terrible crevasse near the base or a natural rock wall. The sheer distance would be impossible for him to clear.

"I think we have him cornered!" I shouted against the wind.

No sooner had I spoke than I was forced to eat my words. With inhuman like agility, the criminal leaped straight over the gap, latching onto the face of the rock wall like a primate before clambering over it.

"Impossible..." I groaned.

I knew we would have to seek an alternate route, and that most surely meant losing his trail. I noticed with a start that Edward wasn't slowing down.

"We have to turn back!" I shouted, pointing ahead.

Edward threw his head back with a wild laugh. "There's no turning back, doctor!"

"Are you mad, man?!" I hollered, seizing him by both shoulders.

Ignoring my plea, Edward whipped the reigns, signaling the horse to go faster. As I watched the rock wall loom closer and closer, I could not help but feel that we would meet our end in the next moment. Yet, even then, I saw a spot where the wall had been worn down, and I knew the young man would attempt to jump it.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as we suddenly became airborne. It was as though we were weightless, suspended in midair. I hardly had time to think about what would happen if we fell short of our mark, for quite suddenly we came crashing down and resumed our furious chase.

"Life is about taking chances! He won't escape us!" Edward yelled, turning his head to glance at me briefly, the wind whipping through his hair.

It was at that moment that I truly understood what was different about the Mayhew twins. For in that brief moment, I had seen something wild; dangerous. Something ancient that spoke of rolling green hills and sea spray as the ocean crashed against the face of a rocky cliff. How often we looked down upon the Irish for their stereotypical tempers and yet here were two spirits as wild and untamable as the very earth from which their heritage sprang. It was a strange sort of realization; one that emboldened my spirit.

We were closing in. I could make out more of our man now. He was fair-haired, though his skin was tanned brown as a berry. He was taller than Holmes and more muscular to boot; a giant among men. Determined not to let him escape again, I drew my service revolver from my pocket.

"Can you make the shot?" Edward asked, struggling to keep the exhausted steed moving.

"I've no doubt," I answered, taking aim over his shoulder.

I had no intention of killing the man. Now, that would not do anything to help us. He needed to be taken in alive and to do that, I only needed to stop him. Steadying my aim as best I could atop a mobile horse, I fired once. A grin alighted on my face as I saw my aim was true: the bullet had pierced his lower leg, tripping him. Due to his momentum, his trip turned into a series of flips before he finally came to rest at the foot of a young oak tree. Edward pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and we both leaped from its back, the young man taking a length of rope with him.

As the criminal began to stir on the ground, we quickly bound him with the entire length, making sure he was unable to unbind himself or otherwise escape.

"You have a lot to answer for," Edward growled.

"I'm not the only one. But yes... of course, you're right," the man said.

The clouds shifted, throwing just enough moonlight upon our party so that I could see his face. It was then that I understood just what Emily had tried to communicate to me earlier. Grief was etched into every line upon the man's face. We hauled him up and he willingly went along with us back towards the home, though I kept my revolver to him all the same.

"You poisoned Holmes, didn't you?" I asked abruptly.

"Me?" the criminal responded questioningly. "No, that was done by... well... someone I _thought_ was my confederate."

"You've a partner?" I pressed.

"Not so much a partner as a man for hire," he explained, still trying to regain his breath. "I had no desire to harm you or your friend. You'll find the antidote on my person."

"What about my brother, Tobias?" Edward asked urgently.

The man shook his head. "For that, I am afraid you will have to wait until Mr. Holmes has awakened and your Inspector has joined us."

It was on this notion that we made haste to return.

* * *

We joined up with Lestrade about half of the way back to the family home. He seemed surprised at how very imposing a figure our captive had turned out to be and all the more surprised that we had managed to bring him in. He should his head, very much out of breath himself.

"I lost you at the crevasse. Where the deuce did you go?" he asked.

"Over it," Edward responded dully.

"What?"

"Over it. We jumped it on the horse," I explained.

Lestrade regarded me dubiously. "That's not possible."

"It is if you've got nowhere else to go," Edward countered, moonlight reflecting off his deep blue eyes.

Lestrade looked to me and I nodded. "Lord Almighty..."

"More like Killarney Almighty," Edward corrected, slapping the chestnut horse's flank affectionately. "And the sooner we return to—Dr. Watson, are you all right?"

I had paused to lean heavily on a nearby tree, falling behind my companions. In the heat of the chase my adrenaline had kept me going, but now that it had begun to wear off I was seeing just how foolish I'd been. I felt Edward catch my arm in a steadying hold and was vaguely aware of our captive offering some sort of apology, only to have Lestrade snap at him irritably. I felt foolish for slowing us down, for in my mind, every moment wasted on my own weakness was a moment taken from Holmes.

"Insector Lestrade, do you suppose you could assist Dr. Watson the rest of the way? I would do it myself, but I suspect that with my rather, ah... short stature I wouldn't be of much help," Edward commented.

"Of course. Let's have your arm there doctor. There we are," Lestrade said, taking my arm 'round his shoulder.

"I'm terribly sorry for this, Lestrade," I informed him.

"It can't be helped," Lestrade responded with a small shrug.

"Right. Now, I have the good doctor's revolver here and I will not feel in the least bit guilty for shooting you should you try to escape. Am I understood?" Edward questioned our prisoner.

The large man nodded his head slowly and we set off once more in a rather queer looking group with the horse pulling up behind us. My perception of time was rather distorted by that point, but it didn't seem very long before we had returned to the old family home. As a sat in a chair in the sitting room and let my head clear, I watched as Lestrade sat our man down and kept guard with Edward.

"What's gotten into Mr. Holmes?" he questioned.

"Why don't you ask our guest?" Emily suggested venomously.

Our captive shifted slightly against his bonds. "To explain the exact nature of the ingredients at this very moment would unnecessarily waste your time. I'll say only that its a complicated mixture of plants found only in the deepest reaches of the South American rainforests. I have the antidote with me here in my satchel."

Emily stooped down and withdrew a small glass phial filled with a thick murky liquid. Quirking an eyebrow as she examined the contents, she uncorked it and wafted some of the scent towards her only to recoil at its pungent odor.

"I this to be ingested or injected?" she asked.

"Ingested," our captive replied.

"How can we be sure this is truly an antidote?" I butted in.

"I've given you no reason to trust me, but at this stage you don't have much choice but to do so," he answered.

She pulled a face. "Very well, though I can't say how he'll take to it."

"If it has not yet been twenty-four hours, it should counteract the poison, but you're correct... it usually does cause some stomach problems for some days afterward," he answered.

"I think he can stand that much for his life," I offered.

"Let's hope. Eddy, would you lift his head?" Emily asked.

The young man quickly crossed the room, kneeling by the sofa to do as she asked. The foul liquid had no sooner passed his lips than he began to cough violently. Edward ran for a glass of water as his sister patted my friend's back gently as he rolled to his side. I started to rise, wishing to do something to help, but the sudden sound of his voice both made my body freeze and my heart jump.

"Watson... sit," he coughed.

"Masterful as ever I see, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said.

"And alert enough to be so," Holmes responded hoarsely, gratefully downing the glass of water Edward offered him. He cleared his throat, his coughing spell having passed, and sat up gingerly. "I see it's safe to assume that this was different from the toxin found on the poisonous dart frogs of South America."

Our man looked very surprised, the lamplight reflecting off his wide eyes. "Why, yes, you're exactly right. However did you realize what I'd used?"

"By the presence of the small splinters I had found at each crime scene," Holmes explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly. When he opened them, I could see that they still held the brightness of fever in them. "I have done some reading on the Noanamá Chocó and Emberá Chocó Indians of western Colombia... though the material was hard to come by. They are the ones who nursed you back to health after your ship wrecked and stranded you on their shores, correct?"

"Mr. Holmes I had heard of your reputation, but I am half prepared to swear you're a witch," our captive remarked, his astnished expression shared by most everyone in the room.

"No, otherwise I should have used divination to find you rather than going through the trouble of being poisoned and having a large lump raised on my poor Boswell's head," Holmes answered dryly. "Now, before we proceed, I believe it is important that first you tell us your name and then the location of young Tobias Mayhew and Dr. Oliver Matthews."

The twins looked eagerly to our captive at this suggestion, no doubt fearful for their younger sibling's well being.

"Yes, I agree. My name is Willoughby Rutherford. I have drawn up a map leading to the location of those I had kidnapped and I can assure you that the boy is quite unharmed. Dr. Matthews should probably be taken to a hospital, for he's lost a bit of blood," Rutherford stated. "The map is in my left trouser pocket."

Lestrade quickly retrieved this, holding it up to the lamp light and nodding in approval. "I'll wire the Yard and set them straight on it. Excuse me a moment."

We watched the Inspector walk briskly from the room to deliver the message. Holmes leaned back as he sat upon the sofa, still looking worse for the ware. I heard a soft sigh escape his lips and saw his brow wrinkle as he draped an arm loosely over his abdomen. I could tell straight away that the antidote was not sitting well with him. This frightened me, for I couldn't be sure how soon the antidote would begin to work and I knew he was still within the poison's hold at the moment. If he were to be ill and lose the antidote there was no telling what could happen to him. I saw him glance once in my direction, though he averted his gaze quickly once he realized I had observed him doing so. After waiting a quarter of an hour, Lestrade returned looking very much relieved.

"They should be looking for them as we speak," he announced.

The twins shared a look of relief.

"Excellent. And now, Mr. Rutherford, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell us your tale," Holmes offered.

"Yes, I believe it is one that must be told," Rutherford said with a somber expression. "It all began when my little sister Lily fell ill..."

* * *

Well, let me just say that as far as Rutherford's story, I did quite a bit of reading and researching. Obviously it's fictional, but most of the scientific bits are factual. I'm really looking forward to bringing this all around. It's strange to write a story with the ending lurking about your mind... I hope to see you again. Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter VII: Sins of the Father

I'm a terrible person.

I really apologize for the time that's passed since my last update. I was away on vacation in Florida and found Epcot to be positively delightful. I've never been to Europe (alas) and so this was a very pleasant experience. Walking until my feet bled, however, was not quite so pleasant. All in all, it was worth it; especially for the strange looks I got from people around my age for reading Sherlock Holmes by the pool. -grin-

Well, we're quickly coming to the end of this one. I suspect it will be only one or two more chapters before we're through. This chapter does seem a bit shorter than the others, but I can assure you I crammed quite a bit of information in here. I hope it's at least satisfactory.

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's wonderful little creations. I've just temporarily commandeered them. I-I was going to return them, honest! D:

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**Chapter VII:** Sins of the Father

Holmes leaned forward in his seat, his fingers steepled before his face and his eyes shut lightly. Whether this was in order to concentrate or because he was unwell, I couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. With a deep sigh, our captive, Willoughby Rutherford, began his strange narrative.

"It all began when my sister Lily became ill. I was a young boy myself at the time, this being some thirty years ago. Lily was an angel of a child; she was petite and fair skinned with the softest golden blond hair I've ever beheld. Her smile was infectious and I'd seen her bring warmth to the eyes of even the coldest of men. There wasn't anyone who came across her that failed to appreciate this shining symbol of innocence. She'd always been a bit of a frail child because during her birth, the umbilical cord became wrapped 'round her throat, depriving her of oxygen for a time. My mother had died giving birth to her, and so we moved from America to England and our father had to care for us on his own. He did the very best that he could, given the circumstances. He died when I was around ten and four years from drowning after he had drunkenly wandered about the pier where he worked one nigh. We had no other relatives, so I left school in order to support us. It was difficult, sometimes we were lucky to have a bit of bread, but there was no alternative. One night, when she was about ten years of age, she came to me in tears because the stray kitten she had been caring for had escaped. I wouldn't have worried very much about save that it was raining something fierce and it hurt me terribly to see her so distraught. So I went out to look for the kitten and after about a quarter on an hour I found the poor creature soaked to the skin and mewling something fierce. However, when I returned to our small home, I was unable to find her.

"I spent the whole night looking, even enlisted some neighbors I had become friendly with and in the early hours of the morning we found her. Se was so dreadfully cold and wet, but I suspected that so long as we warmed her up and let her rest, she would be all right. I was wrong. She developed a terrible fever and became weaker as the days passed. It came so that she could barely lift her head from the pillow on which she lay to take water from a glass. I knew we could not afford a doctor, but I was prepared to do anything in order to as payment. I had heard from the baker just down the street that there was a doctor who was well known for is generosity with those less fortunate. His name was Francis Harlow."

"The father of our late William Harlow," Holmes stated, clearing his throat.

"The very one. Well, I took my dear Lily to this Dr. Francis Harlow with the highest hopes that he could help her. He was very kind upon receiving us and informed me that any talk of payment would come later and that he was only concerned with seeing my sister restored to proper health. You can hardly imagine how light at heart I felt after hearing this; I was sure he must be an agent of God. My elevated spirits were quickly dragged back to earth after he had examine her. He informed me that she was suffering from a very serious illness called Typhoid Fever. I had no idea what this was, of course, being young and somewhat uneducated. He then told me that there was no cure in circulation, but that one could be found in the deepest recesses of some of South America's rainforests. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to be able to help my sister and agreed immediately to sail to this unknown land in order to retrieve said cure.

"The plant I was searching for was the bulb of the rare Stenomesson Flower, a strange looking thing. I gathered what funds I could and secured passage aboard a trade ship in exchange for working as part of the crew. I was a long journey, Mr. Holmes, a very long journey. When I assumed we must be getting closer to our destination, a fearsome storm struck up and our ship capsized. I assume the majority of the crew was lost; I cannot say for certainty for I washed ashore on Colombia an undetermined time later. It was an amazement to me both then and now that I managed to survive. I was in a terrible state; delirious and drifting in and out of consciousness for my days drifting at sea. I was found and tended to by a tribe of Emberá Chocó Indians. I spent the better part of three months holed up an a small hut, a slave to my delirium. When at last I was well enough to make my way about, I came to the unfortunate task of communication. During the next year of my recovery, I spent as much time as I could learning their language. They, in turn, had seemingly accepted me as their charge and sought to teach me their customs and their way of life. In exchange for their generosity, I would often journey out in a hunting party to bring back meat for the tribe.

"When I decided that I had mastered most of their language and the skills needed to survive in this new environment, I inquired about the strange bulb. They informed me of just how rare this was and that the plant only bloomed after the dry season, a drought lasting between two and three months. In addition to this trouble, just finding the plant seemed an impossible task, for its only known location was in the mountain rainforests high above us. Despite this and the trouble I had so far, I was determined to see it through.

"It took me five long years of searching before I was able to find what I was looking for. Thanking the tribe for their gracious hospitality, I secured passage to return to England, unsure if my sister was even still alive. My first action upon setting foot in England was to seek out Dr. Harlow straight away. I was disappointed to learn from his son, who had taken over his father's practice, that he had been killed in an unfortunate accident involving a brougham just two years earlier. It wasn't until later I learned that it was as much as he deserved. I inquired about my sister and his son told me that, although he did recall her based on my description, he had no idea where she might possibly be or even if she were still alive. I spent the next two months searching for some lead as to what could have happened to her. Many of my trails only lead to dead ends and further disappointment, but eventually my tenaciousness paid off. I found, by inquiring in a complex maze of maids, assistants, patients, and staff, what had become of her.

"It was a dark and disgusting business. It began first with her diagnosis: it was false. She did not have Typhoid Fever at all, but rather, pneumonia. The supposed cure I had been sent to find was nothing more than something to keep me away for as long as possible and, if he were lucky, to get me killed. Dr. Harlow Sr. had taken my sister in and cared for her until she was well. She had grown into a beautiful young thing, I was told, and could turn any young man's head from at least a half a mile away. Harlow and his associates, Grisham and Matthews, took notice of this and realized that they could use it to their advantage. They would take turns monthly, keeping her about the house as a maid when in actuality they would let their gentleman "patients" have... they would allow them to _have their way_ with _my_ sister for a fee. Another associate of theirs, Mayhew, learned of their wicked affairs, but was forced into silence. Mayhew had a secret of his own, for he had willingly killed a patient on the operating table, and he was threatened with the exposure of this secret."

Our narrator took a thoughtful pause which allowed me to view plainly both the dark shadow that passed over the face of young Edward and the thoughtful, if somewhat pained expression of my friend Sherlock Holmes.

"You're saying our grandfather murdered one of his patients and then kept quiet about... about _this_ out of fear of it being exposed?" Edward asked.

"Yes, just as I've said," Rutherford answered.

"_Liar_," Edward spat, rising from his seat.

"I have no reason to lie to you at this point, boy," Rutherford rebounded with a light shrug. "Your family's past isn't as pure as you thought it was and it's time it was exposed. How it may effect you is not of any concern to me."

"You... you... How _dare_ you...!" Edward muttered, all but shaking with fury.

"Mr. Mayhew, please resume your seat so that we may hear the rest of Mr. Rutherford's tale," Holmes interrupted, remaining seated.

The red-headed young man only rounded on my companion, hands raised. "No, I will not. This man... this coward murdered two men that had nothing to do with his crusade of vengeance, and kidnapped another and a defenseless child on top of it! That he has the gall to bring the honor of my family name to question, in my own home no less, is simply inexcusable! I do not care what the motive, I do not care how much he has suffered, he has done wrong!"

I was quite taken aback by this sudden outburst, as were Lestrade and Emily, by the looks on their faces. He had changed in an instant from the charming, mischievous young lad to someone completely different. Despite his small stature, he seemed somewhat threatening as he stood just mere inches from my friend.

"Regardless, your anger will do nothing to change the fact. Now, either you take your seat or leave the room," Holmes answered calmly.

The young man opened his mouth in the beginning of an angered reply, but snapped it closed suddenly. After a moment, he had seemingly regained some of his composure, though anger still burned in his eyes like blue fire.

"Very well," he answered, moving to leave the room. As he did, he paused by our captive, casting a cold unsympathetic gaze upon him. "I will only say... that despite the terrible things our father's fathers may have done, it is you who is at fault here, Mr. Rutherford. Only a coward blames the son for the sins of the father."

With that final note, he swiftly exited the room, a loud door slam punctuating his exit from the home into the garden. I shifted my gaze to his sister; it was only too obvious that she was jut barely containing herself as her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly in her lap.

Holmes shifted in his seat. "Mr. Rutherford, is there anything further you wish to tell us?"

Rutherford started suddenly, as though jerked from a private reverie. "Only a few minor points, Mr. Holmes.

"After my discovery, I spent my days searching desperately for my sister. My search ended in despair some months later... My research had brought me to a graveyard. Under an overgrown shrub in an untended corner of the graveyard, I found my sister's grave. Unable to withstand the horrors she was subjected to, my sister took her own life. They drove her to death. Right then and there, I decided that I would avenge her, by any means possible, using everything I had learned from my time in South America."

"And yet you faltered," Holmes pointed out.

Rutherford shifted his gaze.

"No doubt young Tobias reminded you greatly of your sister," Holmes pressed.

"Yes, you're quite correct," Rutherford responded dully. "I had intended to take something precious from Charles Mayhew, just as his father had taken something precious from me. Yet, when I beheld that young boy, so frail and pure of heart, I... I just..."

A lump rose in the man's throat, choking off his response as he buried his face in his hands. For a moment I sympathized with this grieving man, but it took only the memory of Charles Mayhew's pale, anxious face and that of the gruesome crime scenes to quickly sober my mind. After regaining his composure, Rutherford continued.

"I could not lay a hand to the boy. His eyes, it was his eyes you see, Mr. Holmes. The way those wide emerald eyes stared me down, I felt as though I'd been stabbed straight through the heart. Nor could I claim the life of Oliver Matthews, for he was different... I had intended to kill him on the spot, but things went... awry."

"Your dart did not strike your target. This was because Matthews knew you were coming, wasn't it?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, but how—"

"Because, Mr. Rutherford, you had met before," Holmes said, cutting him off. "No doubt he did not recall the meeting until recently, it was probably something quick, fleeting even, but something happened in that meeting that planted a seed of doubt in your heart. You had seen some good in this man that would not allow you to go through with your plans and so, when you arrived only to find him up and waiting for you, you acted rashly. Instead of using that paralyzing dart, you lashed out with your knife, wounding him terribly. It was only after this that you began to panic, unsure in your plans. You knew that you could not leave him there, for he would certainly raise an alarm and offer your identity to the police which would not do as you had not finished your task, yet neither could you bring yourself to end his life. So, you removed your long overcoat, wrapped him up quite securely and escaped quietly into the night, stowing him in your hideout. Wounded as he was, Matthews was too weak from loss of blood and the ensuing fever that followed to alert anyone to his whereabouts."

Rutherford only stared for a moment before nodding slowly. I feel that any amazement that was written on my features was surely mirrored on that of Lestrade, for the inspector watched my friend most intently.

"I should say that clears most everything up for us," Lestrade announced. "All but two things. Firstly, who was this accomplice who poisoned Mr. Holmes?"

"His name is Warren Smith. I had heard, through word of mouth, that he would do anything for a price and so I managed to enlist his aid. He frequents the doss houses in the East End, so I would suggest you begin your search there."

Lestrade nodded, jotting this information down. "And perhaps the question that's on everyone's mind: Why the chickadees?"

Rutherford frowned for a moment before a slight smile sprang to his face. "I mentioned earlier, that prior to moving to London, my family had lived in America. My father's nick-name for my sister Lily was his 'little chickadee.' I picked the term up myself and would often call her Chickadee as a term of affection. I left the chickadees as a reminder that this was for her. That I was doing this for what they had put her through."

"I see," Lestrade hummed, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, why were some of them dead and others alive?" Emily piped up suddenly. She had been so silent that I was certain most of us had forgotten she was there...

"Dead? None of the birds left were dead," Rutherford answered, confusion apparent in his features.

"No doubt you had your accomplice deliver some of these birds," Holmes offered. "I should not be surprised if he had a little _fun_ with them before their delivery."

"Yes... I suppose I see your point. He was... of questionable character, to say the least," Rutherford responded. "With that, I believe I have told you all there is to be told."

"I believe so," Holmes said with finality. "Well, shall we all take a ride to London? I believe we have business there..."

* * *

For the majority of the ride, our party was silent. Rutherford was bound from head to toe so escape by any means was impossible. He was wedged in-between Lestrade and Edward, the latter seeming to have cooled his head, if only just enough to manage a civil level of composure. Opposite them, Holmes, Emily and I sat; I in the middle of the two. More than once during our journey, I was sure Holmes was going to be ill, for his lips would draw to a thin line as any trace of color left his face and I could feel a shudder pass through him. I wondered just how terribly this 'antidote' would effect my poor friend, as despite his best efforts at concealment, his pain was quite obvious to me.

Although we seemed to be surfacing from the problems involving this case, I could not help but get the feeling that we were not yet out of the woods. Indeed, as I casually watched each of of our carriage's occupants, I was certain that they shared my doubts. Lestrade shrugged into his coat, bulldog features set and eyes bouncing continuously from Rutherford to the trees whirring by outside. Edward nibbled at his thumb, the fingers of his other hand drumming inconsistently against his bicep; his sister mirrored his motions so closely that it was as though they were the same person, merely occupying two separate spaces. Rutherford, for his part, sat silently with his head bowed and his eyes shut, perhaps in some sort of thoughtful reverie.

"Inspector Lestrade," Emily said suddenly, "do you suppose that they've found Tobias and Dr. Matthews?"

"Hmm? Oh, well, yes I'm quite certain. Based off the information we've been given, I really see no reason to think otherwise," Lestrade answered distractedly. "We should be back in London in time to—"

"I'm sorry, but does any one else feel as though we've overlooked something?" Edward interrupted. I just... can't help but feel there's at least one more rut in our road, so to speak."

"It's funny you should say, I was just wondering the same," I answered. "Yet, nothing comes to mind."

I looked questioningly to Holmes, and was surprised to find him staring intently at Rutherford. At first glance, I thought he must be feeling ill again, but upon closer inspection it was revealed to me that he was not ill, but rather had come to some sort of realization.

"Get out. Everyone get out immediately!" he demanded.

"Mr. Holmes, what's come over you?" Lestrade asked, brows knit together in confusion.

No sooner had the inspector spoken than we were all suddenly thrown about the interior of the carriage as we veered off the road. The carriage rattled onward, jostling us about as it picked up its pace, speeding towards a now unknown destination. Only just managing to keep from knocking each other about, we attempted to decipher what was happening to us. With a growl, Edward launched his small frame at Rutherford, taking two fistfulls of the man's shirt.

"Rutherford, you blackguard, I know you have a hand in this! Just what—" he stopped abruptly, a look of confusion taking the place of anger. "He's dead!"

"What? Dead!" I echoed, being thrown into Lestrade and Emily as we swerved to and fro.

"And so will we be, if we don't escape now," Holmes announced, reaching for the door.

He managed to do so just a fraction of a second after Emily had, his hand coming to envelop her smaller one. My friend drew his hand back instantly as though he'd been burned while the young lady blushed something fierce. Upon turning the door's handle, however, the color quickly drained and she looked to us with wide, frantic eyes.

"It won't open," she announced.

"Then we'll _make_ it open!" Lestrade declared, pushing past Holmes and myself and throwing himself at the door.

In any other circumstance, I suppose it would have been almost comical to see the small inspector throwing himself against an obstacle that clearly had the better of him, but this was most certainly not the time. Without even a word, Holmes and I moved to assist, all but falling into the door as we hit a rut. We three proceeded to throw our shoulders to the thing and I must admit that, at the time, I was so entirely focused on escape that I hardly registered it was my bad shoulder that was doing the work.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Edward breathed suddenly, staring out the small window. "The cliffs."

"What?" Lestrade hollered.

"The cliffs, man, the cliffs! We're headed straight toward them!" Edward snapped tersely.

"It was so dark and we were so preoccupied, we mustn't have notice the driver change his course," Emily realized. "We were fooled all along."

The door began to splinter under our combined efforts and I briefly wondered who would put such a blasted thick door on a carriage. Edward seemed to be scouring the floor in search of something, only to be thrown headfirst into said floor by a sudden jolt and suddenly whipped back at the wall. As I righted myself, I saw him slumped against the seat, unmoving.

"Too late, too late, too late," Emily chanted despairingly. "It's too late, you need to grab a hold of something!"

Neither Holmes nor Lestrade seemed ready to give up, but one look out the porthole sized window showed us that we were past the point of no return. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than the carriage gave a sickening lurch and we all shared a sudden intake of breath as for a brief moment we became weightless. Then, all to suddenly, we began to plummet. Our mixed screams filled the interior of the carriage, and it was impossible to tell whose was whose, though I was certain one of them was my own.

One of the last things I can recall is feeling Holmes's steel grip on my arm. I looked to him and he appeared to be shouting; with all the noise it was impossible to decipher, but I was certain by the way his lips moved that he was saying "hold on." Then, all around us there was a crashing noise and I felt an icy chill envelop us before darkness swallowed us whole.

* * *

Well, just when you think it's over... I send them all off a cliff. I don't know if you could call this one a cliff hanger, because technically, they've already fallen off of it. Ah, well. It's a small enough cliff... Erm, as far as cliffs go, I mean. Well... ah, hope to see you soon, I suppose?


	8. Chapter VIII: The End is the Beginning

I apologize for the cliff hanger/dropping them off a cliff. I've been a bit busy since spending a week in Florida. I've had my job to keep me occupied not to mention the beginning of my college classes. So far I'm enjoying it immensely. The campus is beautiful, the people are friendly, and the classes are wonderful! Criminal Justice was definitely the correct choice for me.

Well, it appears we have reached the end. However, I have already begun writing my next story and I think it's going to be a good bit of fun. So, I'll leave you with this final chapter and the epilogue and thank all of you once again for your support, your reviews, and simply for sticking with me!

* * *

**DISCLAIMER: **Do I look like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? -strokes mustache-

* * *

Chapter VIII: The End is the Beginning

The sound of the waves crashing to the shore and the gulls overhead. The smell of the salt air. The warmth of the sun on my back in sharp contrast with the chill of the sea washing against my lower body. The feel of the sand sifting between my fingers.

These were the first things that began to register in my fuzzy consciousness as I began to come 'round. At first I couldn't be certain I was even alive. Things felt strangely surreal and my body felt as though every bit of the Earth's gravity was bearing down upon it. Almost tentatively, I flexed my fingers, feeling the fine sand shift beneath my palm. I could hear something to my right, something that sounded like a human voice.

Hesitantly, I cracked an eye open, squinting against the bright light of the sun. When my eyes had finally adjusted, I was greeted by the sigh of Holmes laying in the sand to my left, one arm slung over my shoulder. In an instant, the events of the previous night came flooding back and my blood ran cold.

* * *

The carriage met with the glassy surface of the sea, tilting forward and throwing us into the roof of the thing. Sea water began to flood the compartment and we all know it would only be a short matter of time before we were sunk.

"The door, we have to try the door again," Emily insisted, her teeth chattering as she fought to keep her unconscious brother's head above the water.

Lestrade nodded, one arm wrapped loosely about his middle; I wondered if he had broken a rib. He threw himself at the door, stifling a grunt of pain as he did so. Holmes despite seeming unsteady on his feet, quickly grabbed the Inspector by the shoulder.

"You can't," he said, talking above the noise of the water rushing in on us.

"This is no time to be concerned for my well-being, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said.

"Spare me your wishful thinking for the moment, please," Holmes snorted. "I meant you can't break the door down now. You have to wait until the compartment if completely submerged."

"Holmes, please tell me you are not serious," I gasped.

"Think about it, Watson. Struggling to force it open at this point would be futile, we would only be wasting precious energy," he explained quickly, eying the rising water. "The pressure outside the cabin is much greater than that on the inside. Once the compartment has filled with water, the pressure will be equal and the door should open far more smoothly."

"Will we be able to open it before we run out of air?" Emily queried.

"We shall find out soon..." Holmes answered as the water rose to his chest. "Miss Mayhew!"

"Y-Yes?" Emily answered, the water being above her head and her brother's by this point.

"The window, there, is broken. When the compartment is fully submerged, I want you to try to make your way out and pull at the door from the outside while we push from the inside," he commanded. "At this point, you will be the only one who has a chance of making it through."

"I under... (she disappeared briefly below the water in an attempt to bring her brother up) ...stand. But Edward—"

"Will not have a chance unless you go."

She nodded jerkily, face tilted up to take in air.

"Watson, Lestrade, pay close attention. Draw in as deep a breath as you can manage when I say. Ready? ..._Now_!"

Just before the salt water filled the carriage, we all drew in a deep, desperate breath of air. Opening my eyes under water stung terribly, but some slight vision was better than going blind. I could just barely make out the young woman squeezing through the small window. I felt a hand tap my shoulder and I knew that our efforts were about to begin. I was only slightly aware of Holmes and Lestrade beside me as we pushed against the door. My lungs were beginning to burn, screaming for oxygen, but I could not supply it. I heard the door creak, the sound amplified by the water around us, and I knew that we were making progress.

Spots entered my vision and I could feel myself becoming more and more light headed as the seconds passed. A rush of bubbles sprouted from somewhere next to me, alerting me to the fact that either Holmes or Lestrade had run out of time. The door creaked, squeaked and groaned under our abuse until finally it gave way with a sharp _snap_.

I recognized the steel grip of Holmes, and knew that it had been Lestrade to go first. Reaching blindly for Edward, I grabbed the young man's hand, Holmes grabbing Lestrade and exited the carriage. Emily joined us and the three of us began to kick furiously towards the surface while supporting the weight of our companions. However, no matter how much we kicked, the surface never seemed to draw any closer.

The last thing I saw were bubbles of my own air, spiraling up towards the heavens.

* * *

I attempted to support myself on my elbows, my body weakly protesting the sudden movement and dropping me back to the sand.

"...Holmes..." I croaked, my throat cracked and dry.

He did not answer and did not move. Dark ebony hair fell over his forehead, obscuring his eyes. I reached a hand out, shaking him slightly, and was rewarded with a soft groan. He shifted, hair falling aside just enough for me to see his dark brows knit together and his grey eyes open, dulled in comparison to their usual sharpness.

"Can you hear me?" I asked.

"Watson...?" was the groggy reply.

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes... are you... are you all right?"

I turned my head to see Edward sitting propped up to a large stone, dry blood on the side of his face. He seemed rather dazed at best and blinked frequently, as though trying to force his eyes into focus. I could see neither his sister nor Lestrade beyond him.

"I... I think... we're alive at the very least," I replied, successfully managing to rise to my elbows. "Where are Lestrade and your sister?"

A pained look crossed the young man's features and he brought a hand over his eyes. "I don't know. They... weren't here when I awoke."

A pang of worry flooded through my veins, bringing my body back to life. Hadn't we all escaped the carriage? It was true that I had blacked out, but if we three had managed to make it to shore, surely they must have as well! I squinted in an attempt to see further down the beach on both sides, but could detect no trace of them.

"Footprints..."

The soft exclamation ad come from Holmes, face down and resting his head atop his arms.

"What?"

"Footprints. There," he repeated, raising his head weakly and pointing to his left. "Two sets at that."

"Then... perhaps they walked off to find help?" Edward asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

"One would assume," Holmes sighed.

The thought brought some relief and also a new worry. There could be no telling what kind of injuries they had or if they were in any condition to make such a pilgrimage. We were in poor shape ourselves and I could only imagine that they must be in much the same position. Taking a deep breath, I managed to sit upright and take stock of our surroundings and our wounds.

Edward seemed slightly disoriented from his knock on the head and distressed by his sister's absence, but appeared relatively unharmed otherwise. Holmes looked far worse than I would have wished for. He had been in bad shape as it was due to the poison and the antidote (which I now began to question), and the carriage ride that had nearly ended in our deaths had done him no good. Though on his back now, his eyes had drifted shut once more, but one look could tell me it was not a peaceful rest. There was nothing I could do for him here, especially not where I myself was still in rough shape, but I still felt the need to do something.

I shifted slightly, allowing my shadow to fall over him. He tilted his head, looking up at me.

"What are you doing, Watson?" he inquired.

"The last thing you need on top of all this misery is a sunburn. After my time in Afghanistan, I don't burn quite so easily," I answered.

He gave a short bark of a laugh which brought back some of the usual sparkle to his eyes. "Your sentiments are, while generous, ultimately wasted. I perceive the cavalry arriving."

"It's Sammy," Edward said, a smile coming to his face as he tottered to his feet.

Looking across the beach, I could see what looked like a small army of Yarders, local authorities, and assorted others with Lestrade and Emily among their numbers. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of them. Samuel Mayhew was the first to reach our group, throwing his arms around Edward and hoisting his younger brother up in a near bone-crushing embrace.

"My God, My God! I'd thought we'd lost you," Samuel sighed, burying his face in Edward's fiery red hair. "I was so happy to get Toby back, and then I thought you both had..."

His voice wavered and broke, unable to finish his thought.

"I'm sorry for leaving you," Emily said, stiffly taking a seat in the sand next to me. "But Inspector Lestrade and I knew we couldn't just sit and wait... and we weren't sure we could make the journey alone."

She seemed weary, but relieved. There was still drying blood gathered around some tears in her shirt near her abdomen and lower back, and I could perceive slightly bloodied bandages beneath. I realized she must have gained the wounds when squeezing through the broken window of the carriage. Lestrade was being supported by Granby, one of the young constables we had met earlier, one arm around his middle. I still wondered if one or two of his ribs had been broken.

"I only wish you'd attempted to wake one of us first. We thought you lost," I answered earnestly.

"Only temporarily," Lestrade grunted, finally reaching us. "I apologize for interrupting your sunbathing, but we should probably have you both taken to the hospital."

"You should all be taken to a hospital,"Granby muttered under his breath, yelping when Lestrade elbowed him.

"Why, Inspector Lestrade... I hadn't even noticed you were missing," Holmes offered, accepting my assistance in sitting up. "Watson should have his concussion taken care of, for I fear it may have gotten worse. I, however, will be pleased to return straight to Baker Street."

"Don't be difficult Holmes, please," I implored, watching the police patrol up and down the shoreline.

"If you would rather avoid the hospital, I would be more than pleased to offer my humble services," Samuel Mayhew interceded. "It would be the very least I could do."

"There, you see? The matter's settled. Now can we please get off this beach? I feel the need for a hot cup of tea and a long nap..." Emily sighed.

I rose to my feet, taking a moment to get my balance before reaching my hand out towards Holmes. To my great surprise, he took it without complaint and rose to stand somewhat unsteadily beside me.

"I second that," he answered.

* * *

Everything that came after that seemed to happen so quickly. We found ourselves whisked away from the shore and brought once more to the Mayhew family home. The police remained, unconvinced that all the danger had passed and we set ourselves down to lick our wounds. Holmes seemed particularly irate at being poked and prodded by Samuel who, with a near constant smile on his face, worked with a level of skill and sincerity for which I was thankful. Young Tobias had been put to bed after so frightful an ideal and his mother kept watch, fearful of parting from him. It was some time later when there appeared the very emotional figure of Charles Mayhew in the doorway.

His dark hair was still mussed from anxiety and lack of sleep, he leaned heavily on the support beam and he still appeared pale and unsteady on his feet. I wondered just how seriously this matter had affected his health. The man opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had intended to say died in his throat as it was choked off by a visible lump in his throat. Without a word he took a seat and and stared intensely at Holmes, Lestrade and myself.

"I can't... I can't even begin to thank you," he said, his voice wavering. "You have done more than I could possibly have ever asked of you... and it almost cost you your lives. If there is anything I can do, anything at all, to repay you I would very much like to hear it. You really do not know how very grateful I am."

I admit I was stunned silent for a moment. He had always been a man to say what he was feeling, but this was as nearly as intimate as a man could be with another. To my surprise, it was Lestrade who spoke first.

"Well Dr. Mayhew, I believe I speak the truth when I say Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson and myself are three very different men, but I believe we all share a common sense of justice. For the most part," he stated. "There's no need for you to repay us in any way. As far as I'm concerned, it was our duty to see this through."

Holmes sported an amused look, but brought forth no objection.

"You came to me as a friend. As far as I'm concerned, it was simply a favor between friends," I said.

"And as far as I'm concerned it was a _very_ singular and interesting case. The challenge was payment in itself," Holmes stated off-handedly.

Mayhew gaped at we three, with a look that clearly said he thought us mad. We looked quickly at the sound of quiet giggling in the corner.

"Oh dear, Edward, would you fetch my handkerchief? I believe I'm growing teary eyed," Emily sniffed dramatically.

"Dear sister, I fear the tears in my own eyes would obscure my vision far too greatly for me to do so. So tender a moment of camaraderie; be still my heart!" Edward followed, throwing a hand to his forehead in an equally mocking fashion.

The twins didn't have time to relish in their joke for their elder brother had come from behind the couch and boxed their ears. They grimaced as a grin alighted to his features.

"See here now, you've no right to mock them," Samuel stated. "If I'm correct, you owe these men your thanks. Edward, wasn't it Dr. Watson who dragged you to the surface after you lost consciousness in the carriage? And Emily, wasn't it Inspector Lestrade who brought you 'round after you washed up on the beach with water in your lungs?"

The two turned a shame-faced red, each tugging on a lock of their own fiery hair in embarrassment. It was evident they weren't used to thanking people for things, perhaps because they were rather independent themselves, and the situation seemed to have boxed them into an uncomfortable corner. They mumbled out something that I suppose was either an apology or thank-you, though it sounded like both. Samuel seemed pleased with that much, for he ruffled their hair in a good natured manner and proceeded to continue with his examination of Holmes (much to my friend's displeasure).

"In any case, you are all welcome in my home at any time. And needless to say, I am at your service should you ever need it," Mayhew stated, something of his old smile brightening his haggard features.

"I will be sure to consider that offer. However, I would more likely have use for your twins," Holmes stated enigmatically.

"The twins?"

"They're rather unique. Their skill set could prove useful on a future case. As you know, I have a fondness for the unique and mysterious," Holmes replied.

"Did you hear that? Mr. Holmes is fond of us," Edward stated with a Cheshire Cat grin.

"That's not what I meant in the slightest," Holmes said flatly.

"Regardless, we'd be happy to help. Besides, it's not as though you could get rid of us anyway..." Emily said, mirroring her brother's expression.

"...I'd really prefer not to know," Holmes said decidedly. "Lestrade, has there been any word on our man's accomplice?"

"None at all. Unfortunately, we've not been able to find any trace of a man by that name, so we suspect it was falsified," Lestrade noted. "We're still on the lookout, but the chances of finding him seem slim."

"I can't say that I enjoy the thought of a criminal going without punishment, but you've accomplished such a feat thus far that I can't say you would be frowned upon for missing him," Mayhew stated.

"If you do find him, you had better not let Dr. Watson near him," Edward added.

"Why do you say that?" I inquired.

"Well, I suppose you just might throttle the man to death for poisoning Mr. Holmes. You seemed half dead with worry," Edward pointed out with a lopsided smile.

Thankfully, Lestrade stepped in on my behalf. "Well, we'll continue our search, regardless. A man can't hide forever."

As the conversation carried amiably onward, I chanced a look at Holmes. For the briefest instant, a look of distant thought crossed my friend's features. I could tell that whatever had crossed his mind had brought him far, far away from the now cheery atmosphere of the family home. It would only be many years later that he would reveal just where that thought had brought him. At the moment, however, I was content to let it pass and allow myself to focus on the happy home that we had helped to restore.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It had been five days since the case had come to a conclusion. After being treated by Samuel Mayhew, Holmes and I had made our way back to Baker Street. Although happy to be home, we were both thoroughly worn out by the investigation; the cost of discovery being far greater than either of us had planned.

Holmes was still in wretched condition and it was easy to see he was frustrated by it. He was not a man accustomed to being pent up by illness and so his sudden inability to function as he normally would, combined with finding himself more than once heaving into a basin, left him somewhat irritable. Presently, he was in his favorite armchair by the fire, knees tucked up under his chin and shrugging into his housecoat.

Lestrade, who was nursing a broken rib, had stopped by to update us on the search for Rutherford's accomplice, Warren Smith. The outlook was grim, for although they'd found that a man by that name had been in London, no one could tell us where he'd been or gone for the past week.

"Don't expect to find him, Lestrade. When one has such connections, it is quite possible to _disappear_," Holmes stated mysteriously, not bothering to explain.

"I'm starting to think you're right, Mr. Holmes. Lord knows we've combed every inch of the East End and have nothing to show for it but a name and blisters on our feet," Lestrade admitted.

"Cheer up, Lestrade. As we've already pointed out, the primary criminal had been apprehended, so there's no need to be so down on—"

"Shh!"

Holmes hiss had cut short my sentence and we three sat in silence for a moment. There was a noise coming from the direction of Holmes's room. Lestrade looked to me with surprise, obviously sharing my thoughts: perhaps the villain had come back to finish the job.

Rising quietly, I retrieved my service revolver from Holmes's desk drawer, and we crept toward the closed door. Holmes wrapped his thin fingers around the handle, nodding to the both of us. In an instant, he'd thrown the door open and I aimed at whoever was in the room.

"Oy, oy, oy! Point that somewhere else, thank-you!"

Edward Mayhew stood with his arms raised up, his sister crawling through the open window. Holmes, Lestrade, and I shard a groan as we lowered any form of weapon we happened to be holding. Holmes leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

"I don't recall giving either of you the invitation to use my bedroom window as you would," he grumbled.

"Then you shouldn't leave it unlocked," Edward snorted.

"You really didn't expect us to use the _door_, did you? It's frightfully conventional..." Emily insisted, holding onto a small bundle.

"May we at least ask what you're doing here?" I queried, following Lestrade as we retreated back to the sitting room, the twins at our heels.

"Well, mother's just been baking and we were going about London today anyway, so she insisted we should bring these shortbread biscuits and jam by," Edward clarified as Emily set the basket on the table.

"That's very kind of her," I replied.

"She's been in a bit of a baking frenzy since the case was resolved," Emily mentioned. "You'll find her Irish Soda Bread in there as well. She only uses gran's recipe on special occasions so you should consider yourselves honored."

"I'm sure it will be most enjoyable. It really is very thoughtful of you to bring it by," I assured the twins.

"We decided that since we would be working together in the future, it would be best to make ourselves familiar with your base of operations," Edward said decidedly.

Holmes's head shot up. "Working together?"

"Oh yes. You told father you might have use for us in the future," Emily answered.

"That wasn't an open invitation," Holmes corrected her.

"Dear, dear! Mr. Holmes, you really do not know us at all, do you?" Edward said with a knowing smile. "I'm afraid there's no ridding yourselves of us now."

Lestrade grinned from ear to ear as at Holmes's crestfallen expression. That is, before they turned on him.

"You either, Inspector," Emily hummed.

A rather uncomfortable silence filled the room as Holmes and Lestrade sat brooding over their fate, the twins sharing a gleeful look with a Cheshire Cat grin stretched across their faces.

"...Well, I for one think this will be a wonderful opportunity to—"

"Save your romanticist drivel for the masses, Watson."

**FIN**

* * *

Well, there you have it. It's about all my little imagination could come up with, but I suppose I'm somewhat proud of it. In a way... I hope you've enjoyed it or that it gave you something to do, in the very least. Thank-you once again for sticking with me and I hope to see you again soon!

--YFMB


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